


Lightning in a Bottle

by Memoryboard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Swap, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Imagine canon Yuuri plus confidence boost, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Language, Role Reversal, Smoking, Yuuri's stil slightly anxious, i think, swears everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memoryboard/pseuds/Memoryboard
Summary: “What,” Viktor blinked. Was he still drunk? “Did—did you just fly all the way to Russia to make a bet?”“Is that bad?”“Yes. Because whodoesthat?”Who does that? Yuuri freaking Katsuki, of course.(or: Role Reversal/Age Swap AU where Yuuri's a living legend of the Figure Skating Worldandbored out of his mind.)++ 05/25/17 - Posting shortextrasfor the funzies.





	1. Rum and Adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me I wanted to write a Role Reversal au while I was in the shower and this happened.
> 
> Not sure if I regret it yet.

Yuuri Katsuki is bored.

Absolutely, fucking bored.

Why was he here again? Right, it’s the Grand Prix Finals.

He was smoking outside the stadium in Sochi and Jesus, it was cold and he was going to turn into an icicle soon. But maybe he flops his Free Skate and something interesting happens for once.

“Psh, I knew you’d be here.”

Who’s that again? Yuuri turned to see a very angry teenager who probably doesn’t know he’s not as intimidating as he thinks.

Ah, Yuri Plisetsky.

“Yes?” Yuuri looked to him, throwing in a warm smile for good measure. Everybody likes down-to-earth Yuuri, or so Celestino told him. “It’s really cold out here, I don’t think you should—”

“Why are you smoking?”

 _None of your business_.

“I’ve got nerves.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri Plisetsky snarled like the cat that he is. He pointed at Yuri, his face rather intense. “Some figure skating legend you are. Keep doing that and you’ll run out of oxygen as soon as you step into that rink.”

Yuuri smiled, genuinely this time. Really, he thought that was funny actually.

“Wouldn’t that be fun,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Yuri turned red. He looked like a tomato. An adorable tomato, Yuuri admits. “I’m going to kick your ass once I get to Seniors, remember that.”

 _I’d like to see you try._ Yuuri smiled again instead. "I'm looking forward to it."

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, so he raised a finger at Yuri and to excuse himself and answered the call. “Yeah?”

“Christophe’s almost done, Yuuri.” Celestino’s Italian drawl crept through the speakers. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way back,” Yuuri spoke softly over the phone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Yuuri. Where are—”

Yuuri ended the call without another word. He looked to Yuri, who was still glowering at him, and he waved. “I better go now,” he said. “Better flop than lose via disqualification, am I right?”

And with that, he turned away, leaving a screaming teenager behind in the snow.

-

Yuuri skated. The crowd cheered. He went to the Kiss and Cry.

He broke his own record again.

“Yuuri! Did you see that? Another world record!” Celestino beamed, pulling Yuuri into a crushing hug.

Yuuri returned the embrace almost hesitantly. Although his coach couldn’t see, the cameras around them could, so Yuuri smiled pretending to be excited. That should do. At least no one’s going to start rumors of him getting depressed or bash him for being an ingrate in the ice skating forums.

They announced the winners.

Yuuri, as always, stood at the highest podium.

The medals were given, announcing Yuuri as the champion.

Well, no fucking shit.

He received texts from his family greeting him and sending love, Minako-sensei sent a simple “I knew you could do it!”, Yuuko sent him a video of the triplets cheering in front of a computer screen. Why didn’t Minako-sensei go to Sochi again? Oh, that’s right. She stopped coming to support Yuuri after his third gold.

Phichit, thank god for him, sent a series of incoherent texts about buying him drinks to celebrate or something. Yuuri’s glad his best friend never changed or treated him like an untouchable deity or something stupid like that, even though Phichit’s met him after Yuuri’s been winning medals from a ton of figure skating competitions.

He was harassed by the press, asking him the same questions about a hundred thousand times.

So Yuuri answered, with the biggest of smiles, for a hundred thousand times.

By the time he was done, the muscles on his face were straining from having to grin and be nice. It wasn’t that Yuuri isn’t normally nice, he’s okay (at least in his opinion), but he’s not as naturally charming. If he wanted to win people over, he had do to something extra. If he wanted a achieve a quad that no one’s done before, he has to practice until his feet bled. If he wanted to win the championships, he had to work day and night to achieve it.

Yuuri was no genius, but he had enough time and self-belief and that’s all that matters.

Eventually, Celestino left Yuuri in the hallway. He told his coach he’ll be able to go back by himself, but Celestino’s still caught with some sponsors so he needs Yuuri to be nearby, just in case.

The same, the same.

_Ugh, I thought escaping the press had been enough._

So Yuuri wandered around aimlessly, hoping the gods struck him right then and there so it could spice up his life even just a little bit.

He turned and saw that Yuri Plisetsky was marching toward his direction. Yuuri braced himself, willed himself to smile, but Yuri walked past him. He was ignored.

“Oi, Viktor!”

Curious, Yuuri turned and— _Oh, hello._

He takes it back—he doesn’t want to be struck down, not yet.

Seated on one of the benches, was a man wearing the Russian team’s jacket. A manager? No, he had a gym bag with skates peeking out of them. Some pairs skating competitor? Maybe his own competition?

Yuuri was trying to rack his brain because Jesus Christ, he is _gorgeous_.

“Oi, Viktor!” Yuri stopped in front of Viktor, who was hunched over his phone, looking like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. “Yakov’s been looking for you. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Viktor looked up, his voice almost a whisper, and his blue eyes glassy.

And if he was there the whole time, why hadn’t Yuuri noticed him? Damn, what a wasted chance that was.

_And, also, I’m eavesdropping._

“Psh. Stop that,” Yuri snatched Viktor’s phone and turned it off. “There. There’s no need to grovel about it. Now let’s go before Yakov decides to punish me too for taking too long to get you.”

Viktor threw his phone inside his gym bag, straightened up, and followed Yuri toward the door.

There was a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

He turned to see Celestino, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Let’s get some rest,” Celestino beamed, throwing his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

-

“Holy shit,” Yuuri muttered under his breath, blinking at his phone. He was looking at the judges tabs sent to him via e-mail, skimmed through it, and found Viktor’s name just under his. He was competing with him? Why didn’t Yuuri ever notice? “Shit.”

“What’s that?” Phichit’s face was projected on Yuuri’s laptop through Skype. He had called Phichit just before he was leaving for the banquet, mostly because he needed someone to remind him how to work his own tie. Several press conferences, magazine features, and banquets ago, Yuuri didn’t exactly know how to dress himself—it hasn’t changed one bit.

“What do you know of Viktor Nikiforov?”

Phichit’s eyebrows were raised. “Huh,” he huffed. “I did some research a few months ago, mostly because _you_ don’t, and he’s been competitively skating in Russia for a while. Nothing international, except this year. His records for domestic competitions are so-so. A few golds in Junior’s but that’s it.” Phichit tucked his chin into his palm, and casually, he added, “Also, he’s super hot.”

“Right?”

“Hey, I saw him first.”

“Not in person.” Yuuri smirked at Phichit, who only rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve seen him skate. Well, I found a Youtube video of him skating in the Russian Nationals and he’s wonderful. I can’t believe he didn’t make it to the podium at least.”

Phichit snorted. “If you were paying attention at the Finals, you’d know he flubbed all his jumps.”

“You know I usually can’t watch the others because of the press,” Yuuri pouted.

Phichit put a hand on his chest, face feigning shock. “How dare you insult us mere mortals, Yuuri Katsuki!”

“Hey,” Yuuri frowned. He liked Phichit because he grounds Yuuri, reminds him he’s human, and that one day, someone was going to come and beat him—so he better not ignore his other competitors. “I didn’t mean it like that. Celestino was trying to get me to talk to another sponsor and I’m just, you know—”

Phichit waved at him dismissively. “You knew I was joking, come on.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Phichit straightened up and stretched his arms. “I’ve got homework to do, and you, a banquet to attend. I’ll see you soon.”

Yuuri bid him goodbye, and Phichit grinned before he went offline.

“Huh,” Yuuri stared at Viktor’s photos, thanks to Google Images, and wondered what exactly was holding him back. “Distracted, huh.”

-

Yuuri was absolutely, fucking bored.

Again.

A guy sponsoring him this year was talking about a possible project, sometimes throwing in compliments here and there, congratulating him. Yuuri complies with a smile and feigned gratefulness, until he moves on to the next sponsor and deals with the same shit over and over again.

_Oh dear god._

Someone comes up behind him. Chris, he realized, slung his arm over Yuuri and cheerily said, “Congratulations, you!” He raised a glass of sparkling champagne. “The gang suggested an after party at one of the clubs when all this is done.”

_Half of those guys never even talked to me._

“Well, don’t leave me behind,” Yuuri raised his own flute and gently tapped it to Chris’ own. “Cheers to us.”

Yuuri wondered if he could ask Viktor to come along.

That’s a plan, then.

-

His plan wasn’t working.

He didn’t know if this had been what he was asking the gods for earlier, because no matter what he did to get closer to Viktor, he didn’t manage.

At first it was the press and the sponsors holding him back, then his friends, then Viktor seemed to magically move out of his sight whenever he tried approaching him.

Yuuri sighed deeply.

He was sipping on his fourth flute of champagne when Michele Crispino slipped beside him. “Somebody’s prowling,” he murmured.

“Ha-ha.”

“No, seriously though. You ought to just give it up already,” Michele grinned, teasing. “We’re going to a club, find you a girl—” He stared at Yuuri’s raised eyebrows and cleared his throat. “Or guy, and then that saves you the bother.”

“Yes, but at least I’m not nursing some weird complex,” Yuuri muttered to his flute.

“Huh?” Michele looked confused.

Yuuri put his face in his hand.

“Yuuri!” Mila was suddenly in front of him, enclosing him in a tight hug. Yuuri liked her, at least. “I haven’t congratulated you yet, so there we go.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Thank you, that’s—flattering.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Michele declared, tone flat.

_Damn, was he so obvious?_

Some of the other skaters were coming toward him, too. They were saying the same thing, greeting him, telling him they’ll try better to take his gold away from him next season. Of course, Yuuri tried to sound almost shy and flattered. It worked this time.

Yuuri looked up, almost seeking refuge, and what do you know?

He saw Viktor, beautiful silver head bowed slightly, duck out of the banquet hall.

Good things comes to those who wait, they say.

So Yuuri excused himself, on the pretence that he was going to used to men’s room, and soon, he was out into the lobby and—nothing. No sign of Viktor.

_Dammit, I’m acting like a stalker, but what the hell._

He looked up to the ceiling, harsh white light hurting his eyes. He might need to take out his contacts by now. He’s eyeballs are practically drier than the Death Valley.  
He sighed, tried hard not to rub his eyes, and went into the men’s room.

Suddenly, he staggered backwards, having hit something solid.

Yuuri looked up. Not something—but someone.

Hazy blue eyes stared back at him, his silver hair quite unruly but otherwise adorable, and he was sweating a little. “I’m sorry,” he sputtered, almost unintelligibly. “I mean, I need to go somewhere.”

“Oh?” Yuuri smiled. “Where might that be?”

“A club.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “That’s—um. The banquet’s not over yet.”

_Damn._

“No, but I need something upbeat right about now and the piano’s killing me,” Viktor shrugged. “I mean the piano’s great but—”

“Can I come with?” Yuuri said, almost immediately.

“Uh, sure?”

Yuuri smiled, a real smile, one he couldn’t stop himself from doing. He slipped his hand around Viktor’s arm, which Viktor stared at in surprise but didn’t say anything about it, and Yuuri tugged him toward the doors. “Let’s go.”

-

Yuuri didn’t particularly like going to clubs.

There were so many people, it didn’t smell nice, and he mostly tries not to bump anyone most of the time. It had it’s charm of course, there were so many people nobody even noticed him, and the drinks are stronger, the music louder, the lights dimmer.

Currently, Viktor was sitting beside him at the bar, and Yuuri was having a great time.

No, seriously, though—he was having a great time.

“Really? He said that?” Viktor laughed.

He was even lovelier when he laughed.

“Yuri’s great...” He paused, looked up, a finger to his plump lips. Yuuri wondered if he could touch those lips anytime soon. “Okay, scratch that, he’s horrible. But you’ll know he likes you when the name-calling gets milder. I don’t know, maybe I’m just an idiot.”

Yuuri hummed in response. “I bet, teenagers can be hormonal.”

“I wasn’t that hormonal,” Viktor snorted. “I mean, I obsessed over you since I was twelve and stuff but that’s—oh wait, you didn’t have to know that. Okay, fuck. Um, forget I said anything.”

Yuuri was laughing, shaking his head. “What?”

“Anyway, I wasn’t that hormonal,” Viktor sputtered, cheeks pink. “Maybe Yuri just didn’t grow out of his punk phase. I bet he’s still upset about My Chemical Romance. Or Secondhand Serenade changing genres.”

“What about you, then? What do you like?” Yuuri downed his drink and leaned against the table.

“Um,” Viktor cocked his eyebrow, thinking. “I like dogs?”

“Oh, me too.” Yuuri called for the bartender to serve what’s going to be their umpteenth round. “Do you have any?”

“Ah, I have a poodle named Makkachin,” Viktor mused, eyes sparking slightly.

Before Yuuri could respond, their drinks arrived, and Viktor raised his glass. “Care for a toast?”

“Sure.”

“For the boring-ass banquet.”

Yuuri laughed, he said something in agreement, and tipped his glass toward Viktor. Yuuri, feeling slightly confident, downed his rum in one go.

 _Oh_.

He felt that one.

Yuuri was still contemplating whether or not he should ask for another round when Viktor got up, and held out his hand, “Do you mind?”

He wiped the spillage of rum on his lips and took Viktor’s hand without hesitation. “Not at all.”

-

They were swinging. In a club. To a techno song.

And that’s okay.

Yuuri allowed Viktor to lead, allowed him to swing and twirl and dip Yuuri around the dance floor. Nobody seemed to mind. If there were, Yuuri was enjoying it far too much to care.

Viktor lost his tie somewhere on the dance floor, any visible skin of his was glistening with a little sweat, and his hair was even more rumpled than Yuuri’s seen it last. A few buttons of his shirt were open, blessing Yuuri with a hint of his pale collarbone, and dear me somebody stop his thoughts from racing or he wasn’t going to make it out the club alive.

The bass of the speakers was thumping far too much, bodies were hitting him from everywhere, his phone buzzed multiple times (probably Chris, trying to know where the hell he’s gone to), but Yuuri didn’t care.

Viktor swung him again only to be pulled back into his arms, Viktor’s breath against Yuuri’s ears. “Take me to Japan.”

Yuuri’s heart stopped. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know were it came from. He just knew that in that moment, he was stupid enough to have almost said yes. He didn’t, but instead, he asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor replied. “I’m not sure. Coach me or something.”

It was a rather weird proposal, probably fuelled by adrenaline, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it even when they danced until it was past two in the morning.

Even when Viktor nearly kissed him outside the club.

Even when Yuuri brought him back to his hotel room, having to face a worried Yakov and all.

-

“Oh my god, are you moping again?”

Phichit was standing by Yuuri’s bedroom, looking rather amused.

“That, and Celestino trying to send me straight to the grave in prep for World’s,” he rolled around the bed. He wasn’t going to lie, his body was hurting. His brain was fried. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted on competing and helping Phichit out with his graduate thesis simultaneously.

“Huh,” Phichit stepped inside his room, jumped unto Yuuri’s bed, elbowing him in the process.

“Phichit, what the hell?”

“Seriously, just call him.”

“I’ve texted him.”

“Once.”

Yuuri buried his head into his pillow and groaned. “Two weeks. He hasn’t replied in two weeks.”

“So just call him.”

“I’m not _that_ desperate.”

“Sure you are,” Phichit added a subtle lilt to his tone, just a bit teasingly.

“Okay, I might be extremely interested and would be extremely glad if he showed just a little bit of interest—”

Phichit hummed.

“But he’s got to have the balls to tell me he’s not interested, at least.” Yuuri sighed.

“Oh, is this a new side of you I haven’t seen before? Yuuri Katsuki, the hopeless romantic.” Phichit practically giggled like a little rich fangirl.

Yuuri threw a pillow at him, hard.

“Hey, hey, think about it this way,” Phichit straightened up from the bed, bouncing on the mattress. “I think—he’s working his ass off for World’s. How old is he? Twenty-three? Young and could push boundaries, maybe has more stamina than you, old timer.”

Yuuri frowned. “I’m not that old.”

“In less than three years, you’ll be thirty, my friend.” Phichit shrugged. “And he’s going to surprise you! A new program, maybe? I don’t know Yuuri, just stop wallowing, World’s is coming up.”

Yuuri peeked at him from his burrowed place on the pillow. “I’m starting to think you’re just saying this because you need some help with copy-editing.”

Phichit grinned.

“Fine,” Yuuri groaned.

That’s right, they’ll see each other soon.

-

Except, Viktor wasn’t at the World’s.

So Yuuri skated. The crowd cheered. He went to the Kiss and Cry.

He didn’t break his own record, but close.

“Yuuri! You’re in first!” Celestino hugged him again.

Yuuri smiled, pretending to be excited. Again. That should do.

They announced the winners.

Yuuri stood at the highest podium.

The medals were given, announcing Yuuri as the champion.

The same, the same. Always the same.

He received texts from his family, as always. No Minako-sensei or Mari in the audience, as always.

He’s at the banquet, talking, receiving praise. He was utterly bored as shit.

He went with the others to the club. He drank. He smoked like a motherfucker.

He heard Viktor wanted to retire.

_Too early, too young._

-

At the end of the season, one of the reporters asked him, “What are your plans for the next season?”

Yuuri twitched. He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t fucking know. Why were they even asking him?

He smiled instead. “I’m planning something unexpected, so I can’t tell you yet.”

-

They didn’t have any scheduled practice for that day.

Sweet Jesus, fucking _finally_. He had asked Phichit to come over with some movies, anything at all. He was also working on a katsudon recipe his okaa-san sent him the other day. He wasn’t sure how it’ll go, but at least Phichit ate anything out of politeness, though he does say whether Yuuri’s made something awful or normal. Nothing great, apparently.

They were college students in Detriot, Yuuri thought. They had no reason to be actual chefs. So with Yuuri, it’s just greens and the occasional carbs. And yes, he bloats faster than he could burn off on a rigorous training session, so he avoids eating too much.

“Yuuri!” Phichit surges into Yuuri’s apartment, his coat dishevelled, eyes wide. “Yuuri, you have to see this!”

“Phichit, if this is one of those hamster videos again, I swear to god—”

Phichit wasn’t listening to him. He practically shoves the phone too close to Yuuri’s face his eyes crossed momentarily. “Look!”

It was—oh dear.

It was Viktor, skating.

Soundless, no music at all, just the sound of his blades gliding gracefully on the ice. Yuuri watched in silence for a while, thoughtfully, and then his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“That’s your Free Skate!” Phichit giggled, overexcited. “Yuuri, that’s your freaking program and he’s nailing it, oh my lord.”

A thought hits Yuuri.

Something.

A weird something.

A reckless something.

Possibly the worst fucking idea he’s ever had in his twenty-seven years of existence.

He took out his phone, scrolls through, and said, “Phichit, could you look into my wallet?”

Phichit blinked, but he stepped out of the kitchen and came back with Yuuri’s wallet anyway. Yuuri went through it, found his credit card, and checked the three-digit pin number.

“Yuuri,” Phichit looked to him, puzzled. “What are you doing?”

When he was done, Yuuri set down his phone, and stared back at Phichit blankly.

“Yuuri?”

It was a rather weird proposal, probably fuelled by adrenaline, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Yuuri blinked, surprised by his own actions. “I just booked a flight to St. Petersburg.”

A weird proposal, truly—but he acted on it.

Phichit stared, wide eyed. " _Holy shit_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And oh, title inspired by lyrics to the song _Electric Love_ by BØRNS
> 
>  **Quick update:** You're still free to hit me up with anything at my main Tumblr page, but that thing is just a _mess_. If you want to ask me something, send in prompts, or just say hi, [I made an AO3-centric account yay](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/).


	2. Pasta and Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor didn't know what kind of trouble he was in for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a role reversal/age swap au, but mind that I'm keeping at least a few canon traits personality-wise.
> 
> I'd love a very bold Yuuri but I don't want Viktor wallowing since I can't manage to write a wallowing Viktor.  
> I tried, trust me. And it wasn't working.  
> So have self-destructive Viktor instead. lol.

Viktor woke up to a very rude song.

It was his alarm tone, he realized. How the hell he thought this was a good idea last night was the least of his problems at the moment.

His head hurt from drowsiness, throat dry, and was that alcohol in his mouth? Or was it his dinner? He wasn’t sure anymore. He turned off the stupid alarm and got up, vision spiralling from the dizziness of his hangover. Stupidly, he had also forgotten to close his curtains last night.

The sun ought to explode into a supernova already.

Bile started to come up his throat, and he basically stumbled his way out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, spilling last night’s dinner and more into his toilet bowl. He heaved for what felt like hours until there was acid coming out of his mouth, panting, eyes watering.

“Idiot,” he whispered to himself, forehead leaning against the edge of the bowl, throat on fire.

No matter how pathetic he looked, at least the dizziness stopped. He could stay like this forever. But maybe just until before he died. What a very unattractive corpse he was going to make if that so unfortunately happened.

He didn’t come home with anyone, at least. He had run out of condoms and lube just recently, and knowing the extent of his self control (which to be honest, wasn’t much), he would’ve gone for it regardless.

He’s been making stupid, stupid decisions lately.

He went back to his room, found his phone, and saw that someone named Mikhail had texted him. Whoever the hell this guy was didn’t matter now, since Viktor probably approached the first pretty face he saw last night and went for it. It seemed like his charms had worked yet again, but he wasn’t in a mood for any of it today (or ever).

He also had six missed calls, from an unknown number.

He vaguely remembered someone had texted him with a simple “hey” a few months ago. Probably someone he’s met after leaving the banquet for a night of drunken stupor, or so had Yuri informed him. He didn’t reply, because like Mikhail, whoever this was probably ended up in a filthy bathroom with him—doing unspeakable things but Viktor was sure he’s entirely familiar with—and Viktor wouldn’t want to continue something that had started out with just that.

Not that he’s gone on to continue where he left off before.

Viktor proceeded to take a shower. Maybe that’ll wash off the hangover and numerous regrets he’s been having since who-knows-when. But since stepping out of the hot steam, his dizziness seemed to have transformed into a bad mood instead, so he didn’t know if the showering did anything good to him or added to the problems at hand.

He was on his way to make coffee without putting his clothes on when he heard someone knock.

Viktor wasn’t in the mood for a nice chat with a neighbour (whose name he still didn’t know), so he ignored it. He looked for his coffee beans instead, which he would soon realize, that he had ran out of.

The said neighbour knocked again, more fervently this time.

Viktor groaned. Maybe if he scandalised him enough, he’ll stop coming for an unwelcome refrigerator raid altogether. That’ll do him some good, wouldn’t it?

He opened the door, almost abruptly.

“What?”

There was silence. Good.

But it wasn’t good.

Standing outside his doorstep was Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and reigning World Ice Skating Champion—and Viktor’s dick was hanging out for him to see.

_Damn._

“Um,” Yuuri blinked, drew his eyes away uncomfortably.

“Give me a second,” Viktor slammed the door shut almost immediately, his face hot from embarrassment. He leaned against the closed door for a second, closed his eyes, and muttered, “Idiot. I’m an absolute idiot.”

He ran to his room, almost tripping on his pant leg as he slipped it on, and found the nicest sweater he had tucked into the bottom of his drawer.

Jesus, what an impression to make.

He practically ran to the door, threw it open, and—thank the lord in the heavens—Yuuri was still there, checking his watch.

He was wearing his glasses today.

Yuuri looked up, eyes almost hesitant. “You weren’t answering any of my calls, so I asked Mila for your address—so yeah, I know it’s weird, but here I am.”

Viktor’s eyes went wide.

Why the most decorated figure skater to have ever been spawned would come to Viktor like this, he didn’t know. He swallowed all the questions almost spilling out of his mouth, and stepped back. “Come in.”

Yuuri bowed slightly, whispered what sounded like “thanks”, and ducked his way into the apartment. Viktor motioned for Yuuri to sit on his couch, and went to raid the kitchen cabinets for food or tea, or whatever the hell it is champion figure skaters drink or eat these days. He also didn’t have anything to make coffee with, so that was out of the question.

What a shame. Isn’t coffee supposed to be the best way to go? In situations like this? Who finds themselves in a situation like this?

“You have a nice apartment,” Yuuri noted, eyes trailing anywhere but Viktor’s way, his hair very dark against the silver and white accents of Viktor’s living room.

Viktor noticed he was staring, so he shook his head and continued to raid his empty seemingly empty cupboards.

“It’s not much,” He replied.

“I thought you had a dog.”

Viktor scrunched up his eyebrows. How much did Mila tell him? “She died about a few months ago. Old age.” He busied himself with the cabinets again, hoping to get rid of the sudden tightness in his chest. Not that it helped. “What brings you to St. Petersburg anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh?”

“Well, maybe I have an idea,” Yuuri turned to Viktor, his voice hinting a slight wavering tone. “But that’s what I wanted to talk about.”

Viktor felt himself stiffen for a moment. “Okay.” He turned to Yuuri, his hips leaning against the kitchen counter. “But as much as I am too embarrassed to admit, I’ve got nothing in here. So, um, how do you feel about coffee? Tea? Maybe breakfast?”

“Um,” Yuuri shook his head lightly, looking a little hesitant. “Sure. Sure, why not?”

-

They found the nearest diner a few blocks away from Viktor’s apartment.

Okay, maybe not the _nearest_ one, but it was decent compared to the greasy spoon breakfast place Viktor went to on a bad day (or when he was broke). They also had English translations on the menu, so Viktor could avoid having to recommend some Russian dish Yuuri might not like.

“What are you doing these days?” Yuuri asked, fixing his glasses, his voice casual. Viktor can’t help but notice that he didn’t even begin with asking about training, so he suspected Yuuri already knew about Viktor’s recent (and what looks to be permanent) slump.

“I have a job,” he said, not sure why he was entirely being honest all the while being embarrassed about it in the first place. “Or I manage a cafe. Something like that.”

“You always wanted to own a cafe?”

“That, and skating,” Viktor said. “Not professionally.”

Yuuri’s fingers twitched. “Not professionally, why?”

“I don’t know, I just like it. More like a hobby.” Viktor leaned back on his chair, eyes on Yuuri’s brown ones. “But Yakov’s seen me skate as a kid and insisted that I compete.”

“You’re more than worthy to compete,” Yuuri noted.

At this, Viktor’s eyebrows climbed. “Ah, the down-to-earth skating champion, no wonder everyone likes you,” Viktor shrugged. “But no, I don’t think so. I like doing it without having to work my ass off, if you know what I mean. Kudos to you, though.”

Yuuri hummed, hands on his cup of coffee, eyes observing Viktor. “I saw you skating my routine,” he said, voice flat. “If you’ve performed half as good as you did at the GPF, you’d have landed the podium.”

“If it’s that, Mila caught me on camera, okay?” He sighed. “I just got bored one day, thought I was alone at the rink, and then that happened. I didn’t mean for it to—to go viral like that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“What was it that you came here for again?” Viktor asked after a moment, almost hesitant. He still didn’t know exactly why Yuuri freaking Katsuki was here, in St. Petersburg, eating in a diner with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

_Unpredictable, huh._

“I wanted to wager,” Yuuri said casually, smiling at the waitress as their food arrived. “I’m also hoping you want in.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows, shocked.

“Do you want to know what it is?”

“What,” Viktor blinked. Was he still drunk? “Did—did you just fly all the way to Russia to make a bet?”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes. Because who _does_ that?”

“I still don’t see how it makes it all that bad,” Yuuri shrugged, licking his spoon.

Who does that? Yuuri freaking Katsuki, of course.

Viktor put his face in his hands, his food abandoned. He also realized he wasn’t feeling like eating at the moment, caused by his stinging hangover and the series of inexplicable surprises brought by Yuuri Katsuki. In other words, he felt like shit.

“So?” Yuuri was staring at him, waiting.

“So,” Viktor huffed. “Forgive me for asking, because I still am very much confused, but what do I expect to get from this?”

Yuuri pondered at the questions for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe prove me wrong, I guess?” He said, eyes fluttering slightly. “Because honestly, there’s something that’s been bugging me, but I need you to prove it wrong for me. Then I’ll stop pestering you.”

“And what is that?”

“I think,” Yuuri sat up straight, leaned against the table, almost a breath away from Viktor’s face. “You can win gold next season. If you’ll let me coach you, that is.”

What.

What the actual fuck.

“Well?”

He didn’t know why, he didn’t have the time to think about it, but Viktor _laughed_. If it was out of actual humour or how pathetic that actually sounded, Viktor wouldn’t know. He laughed until tears were forming on his eyes, lips straining, his breath huffing out and almost used up.

“Do you want to wager or not?” Yuuri said, still waiting, anticipating a reply—a further reaction.

“Are you joking? Tell me you're joking.” He asked, most sincerely, expecting the punchline somewhere.

But there was no punchline. There was no chuckle that came out of Yuuri, nor did he react in anyway at all. If anything, he looked kind of disappointed. “If you win, I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

Viktor snorted. “I haven’t even said yes,” he said. “Seriously, did you honestly hope I’d agree?”

“From the way you reacted and the fact that you haven’t showed up for World’s, no.” Yuuri smirked.

“So, I have no business of being on a wager with you.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Yuuri’s smirk had turned into a full blown cheeky grin that made Viktor nervous. “I may or may have not announced my decision to coach you all over social media.”

Viktor’s jaws practically dropped to the ground.

What?

Shit.

“You did _what_?”

-

Viktor was in his room, packing. He was also trying hard not to look at his phone. Or his laptop. Or the TV. Or listen to the nameless neighbour knocking on his door.

Yuri was also texting him, several of them said the same thing:

**What that hell is this Katsuki saying?**

**Oi, Viktor! Where the fuck are you?**

**I am coming for you.**

**Seriously, you quit figure skating just so you could be coached by a fucking douche????!**

**Oi, reply to me, you geezer!**

He had expected Yuuri to have been joking, but in the next two days, his doorstep was being flooded by the press, trying to confirm Yuuri Katsuki’s alleged decision to coach him. It had been all over the internet, too—including pictures of Yuuri walking around St. Petersburg and a picture of them both on the most disastrous breakfast of Viktor’s life.

He did tell the press that it wasn’t true—but Yuuri, the bastard, had happily confirmed it when a paparazzi asked. Soon after, the news spread like wildfire, and Viktor had to turn off his phone so he stopped getting messages from both his rink mates and co-workers.

The nail to the coffin finally arrived that morning, when Yuuri had called him.

“You know,” Yuuri’s voice practically sang. “In Detroit, there’s so many people that you could go unnoticed. You can avoid the Russian press there.”

“The American press would be feasting on you.”

“Maybe, but at least no one’s bothering you this much.”

So that was it. Viktor put up a sign to hire a new guy to manage his small cafe in the mean time, and soon after, he was packing his belongings. Yuuri had called in to inform Viktor that he was going to drop by in the afternoon, plane tickets at the ready.

Viktor didn’t know if Yuuri had expected all things to go his way. He also didn’t know what sort of atrocious idea had wormed its way into Yuuri’s head, because why Viktor? Why was he bothering a guy, one he barely even knew, and one that didn’t show the slightest interest in competing at all?

Keyword: competing.

Viktor loved skating, to be honest. He loved it as his own way of dancing, of expressing himself, and there was no need for cameras or judges to tell him whether he was beautiful or strong or skilled enough to skate.

But apparently, Yuuri Katsuki thinks this is untrue.

His internal monologue was interrupted by a knock on his door and his phone continually buzzing. He chose the phone. “Yes?”

“Have you packed?”

Viktor sighed. “Yes.

“I’m outside.”

He threw his phone back on the bed and went to get the door. As soon as he opened it, he saw that Yuuri was talking to Viktor’s neighbour.

“Oh, here he is,” Yuuri said. “It was nice meeting you, Antonio!”

Antonio grinned at Yuuri, leaned toward Viktor, and then mumbled, “You didn’t tell me you were waiting for your hot boyfriend,” he whispered to Viktor. "I would have stopped knocking if I knew.”

“He’s not—”

But Antonio had already stepped back and waved a hand. “Have fun!”

In the annoyingly long moment that he had spoken to Antonio (now he knew his name), Yuuri had already taken over the couch, his black duffel bag at his feet.

Viktor scowled at Yuuri, hoping that he was still extremely inebriated, and this wasn’t happening. “Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Yuuri smiled. “Go on, don’t mind me. Our flight’s in two hours.”

-

He was going to live with Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and reigning World Ice Skating Champion, and Viktor was still wondering if the guy was freaking serious.

Was it April Fool’s? Was bad karma getting to him? Was he in the limbo and he didn’t know he was dead? The last one was very possible, since he did blackout and might have as well been ran over by a bus before he could even wake up—this, Viktor realized had more sense than riding in the backseat of a taxi in the middle of Detroit. With Yuuri Katsuki.

At first, Yuuri offered that Viktor stayed in one of the dormitories nearby the rink—the other rink, one that Yuuri didn’t practice in—but he stopped himself halfway and said, “But you know, considering your sleeping habits of late, I think it’s best you stay in my guest room. That’ll fix it, don’t you think?” He grinned. “I mean, who wakes up at two in the afternoon, for heaven’s sake?”

“Me,” Viktor had sighed. “And shouldn't I get a say in this?”

“Coach’s orders,” Yuuri raised a finger in front of Viktor. “And I’m making sure you’re not slacking. Didn’t the wager require you to do your best?”

“I could easily cheat, you know. So the thing actually has loopholes,” he replied dryly. “Though I don’t think that’s needed. I’m not actually that good, I just like what I do.”

Yuuri flashed him a smile, which was admittedly attractive. “That’s why there’s a bet. I’ll leave you alone whether you win or lose. I just need to get it into that head of yours, honestly.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be so sure about it,” he said, throwing his hair back. “It’s not like I hate it, you know. I just don’t like seeking others people’s approval,” his eyes slid toward Yuuri. “No offense.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri shrugged. The afternoon sun glinted against the frames of his blue-rimmed glasses. Viktor remembered Yuuri to have always worn one when he had been younger, but as he grew up, he eventually switched to contacts. “How do you feel about dinner? Pasta?”

“Hmmhmm. Out or in?”

“Definitely out,” Yuuri chuckled, his nose wrinkling slightly. “I’m no good with pasta or any Italian food.” He shook his head. “Or any food classier than college dorm room cooking, to be honest.”

Viktor wouldn’t lie, he loved how the way Yuuri’s glasses made him look younger—that and his hair left to their own devices. He looked charming. The kind of charming Viktor had remembered him to be when he had just started winning his first few golds.

“We’re here,” the cabbie looked to them. Viktor began to scour his wallet, but Yuuri had already handed the driver some cash, along what looked to be an enormous tip.

“Mine’s on the sixth floor,” Yuuri looked to him, as they were on the elevator.

“Sixth?”

“Yes? Why do you look suspicious?”

Viktor frowned. “I don’t know. Don’t you own a penthouse or something?”

Yuuri’s apartment looked...normal.

Viktor didn’t know what he expected. He had lived a well-off life regardless of his failure to place in competitions—and let’s be honest, ice skating isn’t necessarily a very cheap hobby.

That, and Viktor owned a freaking cafe just because he wanted to.

So when he saw that Yuuri’s apartment was a lot more bare than Viktor’s had been, he felt a little surprised. It wasn’t a shithole, not at all, but it stayed simple—white walls and furniture, black colours and wooden accents, some small potted plants, industrial lights, very few picture frames. No hint of a living legend in his apartment.

Had Viktor been twelve, he would’ve fainted at the idea of having to live with an idol. Right at the moment, at twenty-three, Viktor had thrown away any motivation for winning a competition and had slept with more men and women he could count.

So bless him, for growing up and having balls of steel.

“You’ll be staying here,” Yuuri opened the door slightly, and walked passed Viktor toward another door across the room. “There’s juice in the fridge. Or if you like coffee, I have those in the cabinet, too.” Yuuri waved at him, with the hand unoccupied by his black duffel. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Viktor found that his room was rather large. With his own bathroom. Yes, thank you, so accidentally bumping into Yuuri butt naked isn’t going to happen anytime soon—unless he got blaringly drunk again, that is.

He set his luggage to the side of the bed, found himself lying down instantaneously, and jesus, he was exhausted. Who knew having to do normal human interactions could drain him this much. Maybe it’s just Yuuri. Or maybe he’s just lying on a bed in the middle of fucking Detroit.

-

Dinner with Yuuri was rather enjoyable, Viktor admits.

He liked looking at him still wearing those glasses, and with the open sky above them, Yuuri looked almost surreal. Viktor couldn’t explain why. Maybe he was just reminded of a childhood crush he had so long ago. People do experience that, don’t they? Remembering someone they obsessed over, and when they’re older, they remember how ridiculous it had been.

It wasn’t that Yuuri wasn’t as lovely as he had been before, he still very much was, but Viktor has come to know that his successful career had changed his overall tone as a person.

Fame did many things to people, and Viktor would really rather not bother with them.

And yet, here he was; a hours away from Russia, in the middle of a country he didn't know, eating pasta with a man he met three days ago.

Viktor, like always, had been making stupid, stupid decisions lately.

“So my mother likes cooking this dish, and I love it too, but Celestino would never let me,” Yuuri said, almost sounding a bit shy. That had been weird. Yuuri Katsuki was never supposed to be shy. “I wished I had brought you to Japan instead, so I could eat okaa-san’s katsudon.”

“Do you normally coach people as an excuse to eat your favourite dish?”

Yuuri looked to him and laughed. “No, I don’t normally coach them,” he said. “But since we’re getting to know each other, I might as well let you in on the best food there is. Maybe I’ll ask for a recipe.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Viktor tipped his glass of rum toward Yuuri and drank.

As soon as he set the glass back down, he saw that Yuuri was peering at him from across the table, and then his eyes went to the now empty glass. “First things first, we should get you to avoid drinking.”

“Hah, no can do,” Viktor chided. “This is my brain juice.” He lifted the glass as if it were a treasure he was boasting to Yuuri, the other’s face refracted on the clear material. “This is what gave me the idea to start my own cafe.”

“You mean it was responsible for your lack of impulse control,” Yuuri muttered.

Viktor pouted. “Aw, but _mom_ , isn’t a sudden change of lifestyle a bad thing?”

“You think you could get away with anything just because you have a pretty face, don’t you?” Yuuri waved his hand dismissively. “Well, I won’t prohibit you. You’re free to drink whatever you want, if you still have the energy when we’re done practicing, that is.”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

Yuuri flushed, just a little bit, but his eyes stayed on Viktor. “Yes, why?”

“Nothing.”

Yuuri pulled his coat closer to himself, shivering a little. “Are you done? We need to drop by somewhere.”

“Okay,” Viktor followed as Yuuri stood, falling a step beside him as they walked along the sidewalk. “Where are we going again?”

A smile crept up Yuuri’s face, visible though the orange streetlights were dim. “You’ll see.”

They walked for about five, ten minutes before Yuuri stopped in front of an establishment, his hand on the glass door. “Oh, good. They’re still open.”

Viktor looked up to see that it was a pet servicing store.

He didn’t know why they were there, but he followed Yuuri anyway, who was greeted by a nice young woman looking to be in her thirties.

“Yuuko-san!” Yuuri smiled at her, he saw Viktor and gestured toward his direction. “Um, this is Viktor, by the way.”

“Oh! So you’ve come back.” Yuuko’s eyes seemed to have recognized Viktor and beamed. She had a slight accent (Japanese, Viktor realized) and she proceeded to reach out to Viktor’s hand and shook it. “So you’re Yuuri’s new student, huh?”

Viktor bit his lip. “Ah, yes.” He said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Me too!” She winked, then turned to Yuuri. “By the way, Vicchan’s been waiting for you all day.”

Yuuri hummed, following Yuuko as she made her way toward a hallway filled with several dogs and cats inside large crates, ready to be groomed.

“Vicchan?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri only looked to him knowingly. “You’ll see.”

They stepped inside a much larger room at the far back, and to Viktor’s surprise, was a play room. The floors were covered in mats, toys and pet cushions scattered here and there; more interestingly, it was filled with several dogs, all in different kinds and sizes, wagging their tails at them.

One in particular, a very large one, bounded directly for Yuuri.

Yuuri fell on his back, laughing as he was embracing a large poodle, while it slobbered wet kisses on Yuuri’s face. Viktor’s heart fluttered, the good kind, and felt himself smile.

“He missed you,” Yuuko said endearingly, her eyes looking very fond.

Yuuri looked up to Viktor, glasses askew (adorably so), and he grinned, “Viktor, meet Vicchan.”

“Can I—can I pet him?”

Yuuri nodded. “Of course you can!”

Viktor bent down, almost hesitantly, and scratched behind the poodle’s ears. It wasn’t long before Vicchan was smelling Viktor’s legs, tail wagging excitedly, and Viktor couldn’t help but spoil her with more petting. He wished he had brought a dog treat or something.

Maybe coming to Detroit wasn’t the worst decision he’s ever made, so far.

-

“Wake up,” a voice hovered above Viktor.

Something cold was being lightly sprayed on his face. What the hell was this? He touched his face, opened his eyes, and he was suddenly looking into the eyes of Yuuri Katsuki.

Right.

Yuuri was also holding a—a thing you used to spritz water on plants. What the hell.

“It’s not even seven in the morning,” Viktor protested.

“No,” Yuuri put a hand to his hips, smiling. He was already dressed for training, Viktor noticed; in all black, his gloves included. “But you haven’t been exercising enough these past few months and I’m here to whip you into shape.”

Not long after that, Vicchan was already on Viktor’s bed, jumping excitedly at him, licking his face.

Yuuri scratched the poodle’s head. “Good boy.”

Viktor jolted to face Yuuri. “Don’t tell him that!” His head snapped toward Vicchan, eyes turning to slits. “Don’t listen to him.”

“He loves me more.”

As if in response to this, Vicchan continually licked Viktor’s face, slobbering all over him.

“Christ, fine.” Viktor threw the blankets aside and got up, almost impatiently. “Do we have a specific time schedule, coach?”

Yuuri hummed, looked down, and mockingly checked his watch. “It’s 5 in the morning and we’re behind schedule—”

“Five in the _fucking_ morning?”

“So that gives you about five minutes to change? I’ll be outside.” Yuuri sauntered out the door, Vicchan following at his heels.

Viktor groaned, but he slipped his shirt off anyway.

What a long day this is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you lurking. ;) Tell me what you think!


	3. Impulse and Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keyword: Trainwreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sooooooo this chapter sort of just wrote itself.
> 
> I'm also beginning to consider extending the number of chapters because dear god, I didn't even know it was going to turn out this way.
> 
> And yes, your mind is not playing tricks on you. I decided to change the summary because it was too vague to begin with. hah.

Viktor went through a series of revelations throughout his first day of training.

First, was that Yuuri was neither kind nor charming when he was serious about something. Second, was that Viktor was just about ready to suffer from an injury to his knees and muscles he never knew he had. Lastly, was that Yuuri Katsuki was an absolute dick.

“Run that again,” Yuuri stood nearby, his hands folded in front of him.

Viktor looked to him sharply, hunched over and still panting. Sweat was dripping unto his gym shirt, his cheeks flushed from exertion, and despite being smack in the middle of an ice rink, Viktor could feel heat coming from underneath his skin. “That’s like...the eighth...consecutive time you made me do that!”

“Yes, but I used to do thirteen quad flips in a row when I was your age,” Yuuri shrugged, fingers tapping on his arms, eyes watchful.

“Hah, ‘used to’,” Viktor made an effort to sound snarky, but what came out of him was a heave of exhaustion. “I guess age is catching up to you, old man.”

Yuuri snorted, unfazed. “Sure, but at least I don’t appear to be balding.”

Viktor shot up so fast he almost lost his balance, hands going to the crown of his head. He felt around his scalp for a moment, before he looked to Yuuri and frowned, “I am not.”

Yuuri leaned against the handle bars, the ones that enclosed the rink; causing his shirt to ride up slightly, showing a bit of pale skin. “I don’t mean to be the harbinger of bad news, but early onset balding does start at twenty-one,” he chuckled. Yuuri gestured at Viktor’s feet and said, “go give me figure eights. Maybe ten rounds of that.”

Viktor sighed, but he obeyed anyway.

“How old were you when you got your second gold at Russian Junior’s?”

“Sixteen,” Viktor’s eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t even begin to explain as to why Yuuri knew this. “Why ask?”

“Because you had a lot of hair.”

Viktor almost slipped on ice. “You—you researched me?”

Yuuri blinked. “Is that bad?”

“No, but why?”

“Because I needed to plan a proper training regimen,” Yuuri looked to him like this was the most ridiculous question Viktor could ever ask. “Shouldn’t I try to match with my student’s skill sets and work with them?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?”

“Your student.”

“Sure,” Yuuri waved him away dismissively. “Anyway, as I was saying, I plan on setting up a training regimen that’s going to work with the skills you already have.”

“My skill set does not involve a quad Salchow.”

“At the moment, yes. In the future, maybe.” Yuuri glided across the ice, toward where Viktor was, his fingers catching Viktor’s chin. The touch was very light, but it was oddly electric. “Did you think I just happened to have been drunk one night and decided I coach you?”

“That—is very plausible, to be honest,” Viktor stammered. “Does your coach even know about this?”

“He was surprised, of course,” Yuuri’s thumb found its way unto Viktor’s bottom lip, eyes looking down hazily. “But then I saw you skate so wonderfully, I wondered—wondered what more I’d be able to see if someone pushed you hard enough.”

“You think you can do that?” Viktor closed his lips around Yuuri’s thumb, the touch slight and fleeting.

Yuuri’s hand twitched, even just for a very brief second, and Viktor had to stop himself from smilling, eyes not leaving his.

Two can certainly play this game.

“Oh, I’ll try,” Yuuri pushed his thumb deeper, flattened against Viktor’s tongue, then he pulled it away—wet streaks of saliva trailed in its wake, down toward the tip of Viktor’s chin. “But my, you’ve been _so_ bad today. Always complaining, hardly listening.”

Viktor felt inexplicably hot.

“Hmmm,” Viktor hummed, quite nervously. He wasn't going to back down, though. “Any punishment in mind, coach?”

Yuuri’s fingers took Viktor by the chin, pulling down slightly, so Viktor'eyes were level with his. He leaned in, close, too close. Close enough that his breath brushed against Viktor’s lips. And Yuuri's voice, breathy and whispering, “You won gold at Russian Junior’s before, so it’s not a question of whether you can or can’t. It’s whether you would or _won’t_.”

Viktor trembled. Not because he was cold. He didn’t know why that was so, either.

“As for the punishment, maybe that’s something I’ll have to think about. To keep you in check.” Yuuri breathed down on his mouth, eyes hazy and devious. “Now, give me at least three triple axels and two sets of triple-double combinations. Then quads.”

Before he could even reply, Yuuri was already skating backwards, eyes knowingly victorious.

Viktor swallowed, tried snapping out of it, and did as he was told.

-

They went to a small diner near the rink for lunch. Yuuri was apparently planning something more cardio-related and less ice skating for the afternoon. This was the particular part of competing that Viktor truly hated. He had groaned, but Yuuri dared him to go back to Russia while the news of his apparent comeback was still very new—that shut him up, or at least, muffled his moaning a little.

Vicchan was with them, looking up at Viktor as he bribed him some scraps. He needed to at least get the poodle in connivance against Yuuri, else, Viktor was going to stay bullied and alone.

What a dull life that would make, wouldn’t it?

“You know, I expected you to choose the salad, but why did I ever hope you’d care?” Yuuri sighed from where he was seated in front of Viktor, his elbows resting on the table.

Viktor shrugged. “I have fantastic metabolism.”

Yuuri looked to him, eyes interested, raking all of Viktor watchfully. “I can see that.”

They’re at it again.

Viktor was pretty sure Yuuri Katsuki was an outstanding flirt, but why was Viktor getting so flustered? Surely, this was no different than the many men and women and everything in between he’s been with. Yuuri was just one of them, wasn’t he? So what was different?

_Idiot. He’s Yuuri freaking Katsuki, that’s why._

Viktor laughed. He tried to make it sound humored but it came out shaky. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Yuuri downed his water. None of the sugar-filled drinks for him, he had said. “Anything at all.”

“Do you really think it’s worth getting out of your way to coach me? Isn’t your coach—isn’t Celestino a bit mad?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Celestino’s very supportive and had allowed me to do whatever I want, honestly. So when I said I wanted to take a break, maybe consider retirement, he didn’t bother arguing against it. The coaching had been a surprise, though.”

“Wait, what?” Viktor almost spit out his iced tea (Well, iced tea spiked with rum, but Yuuri didn’t have to know that). “What do you mean retirement?”

Yuuri laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. Even without his glasses, as long as Yuuri Katsuki laughed, he almost instantly looked younger and more charming. Like when Yuuri had still been starting out. Like when Viktor was still insanely obsessed with him (But Yuuri didn’t have to know that, either).

“As much as I hate to admit it, I really am getting old,” Yuuri sighed. “A few gold medals sounds like a good run, don’t you think?”

A few.

A few gold medals.

_Was this guy for real?_

“Yes, but no one’s beaten you yet,” Viktor said.

“Sure, but if I keep going I might end up with injuries I’m going to regret,” Yuuri bowed his head slightly, a little shy. “Someone ought to break the records I set someday, anyway.”

Did Yuuri just look a bit hesitant talking about his winnings and world records?

“Why do you look flustered?” Viktor sputtered without even thinking.

_Jesus, I have no filter._

“I, um, I don’t like talking about it, that’s all.” Yuuri looked to his fingers, then he peered at Viktor through his impossibly long lashes. Impossibly. Long. Lashes. “You, however, don’t like talking about yourself. Tell me something about you.”

Viktor almost choked on his iced tea-rum. “What?”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That, too.”

“I’m having the slightest feeling you’re making fun of me.”

“If you mean your limited vocabulary, yes.”

Viktor scowled.

Yuuri simply grinned. “Are we done?” He went on to check his watch, then looked over to Viktor. “I’ve set a private training schedule with Minako-sensei at one-thirty. Her students will arrive at about three, so we better hurry.”

“Minako-sensei?”

“Your new ballet instructor.”

Viktor slammed his head against the table and groaned.

-

“Are you alright?” The ballet teacher, Minako, looked to Viktor with a worried look.

They were at a ballet studio nearby; nothing grand, but Minako Okukawa happened to be an award-winning ballerina and has taught Yuuri the art of dancing even before he went to pursue ice skating. Unlike Yuuri, the bastard, Minako was forgiving.

Okay, maybe _forgiving_ might not be the best way to describe her, but at least she was granting Viktor water breaks, instructed him before running something again, and most of all, cheering him on when he was at the end of his rope.

At the moment, Viktor felt dizzy.

“Hey,” Minako put a hand on his shoulder this time. “Are you okay?”

“If he’s dizzy, it’s his fault,” Yuuri muttered from across the room, watching. “He’s been drinking.”

Minako’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m not drunk,” Viktor defended himself, tried to, at least. “I’m not used to the spins yet, okay? It’s been long since I did any ballet.”

Minako put her hands to her hips, her hair spilling from were they were pinned. She didn’t look forty, but much, much younger. How old she really was, Viktor didn’t want to ask. Being stared down by Minako had been enough horror for one day. “We need to do something about that, don’t we?” She looked over to Yuuri from across the room, slim fingers resting on her chin. “Your student needs some discipline, coach.”

Yuuri put a finger to his lips, seemingly thinking, then he jutted his hand out into the air as if enlightened suddenly. “How about five more miles in the morning run? Sounds about right, sensei?”

Viktor winced. “Yuuri!”

“Or extra reps during sit-ups.” Minako suggested.

“Maybe I’ll try making him take the stairs once we got home.”

“He could use an extra hour on the treadmill, to be honest.”

“Maybe breathing exercises at the gym’s pool.”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Viktor covered his ears. As if it would help. “Yuuri, I’m sorry, okay? No drinking in the middle of training.”

Minako cocked her eyebrow. “No drinking on weekdays.”

Yuuri snorted at this, but Viktor didn’t know as to whom it was directed to.

“Okay,” Viktor replied, defeated. “Fine.”

“Seriously, Viktor.” Yuuri said, voice flat. “If I happen to catch you lacing your iced tea with rum again, you’ll be doing quad Salchows the whole day. In succession. Until you manage to land six in a row.”

Viktor wouldn’t lie, usually he’d call a bluff like this, but knowing the unpredictable force that Yuuri is, he wouldn’t question it. Yuuri might even make him do jumps until he sprained an ankle and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Ah, coach Yuuri whipping his student into shape. I taught you well.” Minako grinned, raised her hands, and clapped them excitedly. She went back to the corner of the studio, leaning against the barre. “Now Viktor, Arabesque position.”

Viktor sighed.

It has been a long, long day indeed.

-

Yuuri had left Viktor alone to his own devices after dinner.

They ate together at a restaurant, mostly chatting about the weather and all sorts of mundane things, then Yuuri remembered he was needed at Yuuko’s place. Viktor had chosen to wait for him at a cafe, where he was scrolling through his Kindle, looking for a decent read.

As promised, Yuuri had allowed him to get a chocolate-based drink with a dash of Bailey’s. Not bad. He liked drinking so much these days he was starting to wonder if he was becoming an alcoholic.

After the session with Minako, Yuuri had brought Viktor back to the rink to help him with some basics. Execution, mostly. This, however, did not mean that it wasn’t any less grueling.

“Your artistry is great but we still need you to pull through the technical scores,” Yuuri had said, lightly sweating from showing Viktor how to properly do a Biellmann spin. He had done it so perfectly. Like it was nothing. “Trust me when I say that your Biellmann is better than mine, more elegant. You could even sustain it far longer than I ever did.”

Viktor had snorted.

Yuuri looked to him like Viktor was an idiot. “You really don’t like compliments, don’t you?”

“I just don’t like being flattered, that’s all.”

Viktor waved him off and continued to work.

How the hell he had managed the day without breaking, he didn’t know.

Maybe because he was also kind of prideful. For all he knew, the media outrage might have already died down in Russia and he could simply just fly back and leave peacefully ever after. Yet somehow, it still felt rude to leave Yuuri mid-training; not when Yuuri had formally taken a break and had expressed his desire of a possible retirement.

Thinking about the ice without Yuuri in it, no matter how inexplicable it was, felt wrong to Viktor.

He may have gotten over a childhood crush long ago but this didn’t mean he didn’t follow Yuuri’s career. This didn’t mean that he stopped ever watching the surprises Yuuri brought to the world, one gold medal at a time.

This didn’t mean Yuuri Katsuki had ceased to take his breath away.

Viktor’s phone buzzed.

Without thinking, he brought it to his ear and said, “Yuuri, I’m still waiting.”

“VIKTOR NIKIFOROV WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ANY OF MY MESSAGES?!”

Mila.

Viktor frowned. Oh, he was looking forward to this. “I turned my chat and WhatsApp on mute.”

“Yura is just about ready to explode,” Mila gushed in hurried Russian. “He said he’s left tons of messages but you weren’t replying to any of them either.”

Viktor pinched his nose, eyes closed. He set down his Kindle on the table and crossed his legs. “That—is exactly why I have everything on mute.”

“So how is it? How’s America? Are you in Detroit? Oh, dear. Have you been to Las Vegas yet?”

“Mila.”

“Have you been sightseeing? Has Yuuri taken you sightseeing yet? Do you live together now? What does Yuuri Katsuki’s dick look like—”

“Mila, god. Please stop.” Viktor sputtered, cheeks flaring red. “It’s a long story, okay? I got blackmailed into coming here—”

Mila gasped. “You. Got blackmailed? By Yuuri Katsuki?”

Viktor paused for a moment, assessing the situation himself. He realized he never thought about it before, not really. Not at all, apparently. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“So are you screwing yet?”

“Mila!”

She giggled from the other end of the line. “I don’t know Viktor, but no one just happens to knock on someone’s door, blackmail them into packing their stuff to another country, and just not do something remotely...how do I say this? Romantic, I guess? Flirtatious? Sexy? You know what I mean.” She snorted, and helpfully, added with a dreamy sigh, “Not to mention he asked for your address. Your _address_ , Viktor Nikiforov. I offered your number but he said he already had it.”

“You think blackmail is a form of flirting,” Viktor deadpanned.

“Did you give it to him?” She continued, completely ignoring what Viktor had just said. “You must have given it to him. He must have asked for it.”

“He probably got it from somewhere. He’s famous, so he probably knows someone from the secret service and they’d gladly disclose information. I don’t know. He’s crazy, okay?” Viktor sighed deeply. “And no, to answer the question you so elegantly put, we’re not screwing.”

There was a pause.

“What?!”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes, but so am I.”

Suddenly a weird gurgling noise came over the line. Mila shouted at someone, then something fell, and all of the sudden someone else was talking to Viktor; “Oi, old man! Where are you?”

“Detroit.” Viktor replied helpfully.

“You agreed?! To him?! To that dick?!”

“To what?”

“To the bastard’s proposal, you idiot! You know what I meant.” Yuri screamed over the phone so loud Viktor had to pull away momentarily. “Did the bastard hex you? Did he drug you or something? Messed with your mind?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Yura?”

There was groaning. “What I don’t understand is that you suddenly disappear. Poof. Nothing.” Yuri said, “The next thing I know, there’s news all over Russia about you getting coached by that _shithead_. He better not try something, or I’ll—”

“Has the news died down yet?” Viktor asked, mostly to shut Yuri up,

“No,” Yuri huffed. “The press has been mobbing the rink like crazy lately. You go to Detroit and leave this mess behind, and now we’re the ones suffering.”

Viktor was about to reply, when someone pulled the chair in front of him. Viktor looked up, almost surprised, eyes wide. “Oh, Yuuri. You’re back.”

Yuuri smiled back at him.

“IS THE DOUCHE THERE? TELL HIM HE SUCKS ASS AND I WILL GET BACK AT HIM—”

There was a loud banging noise, then Viktor could hear Yuri’s voice still shouting obscenities, though it was starting to fade away. Like someone was hauling him off somewhere—probably Georgi. He usually did the dirty work when Viktor wasn’t around.

“Forgive Yura, you know how he is.” Mila’s voice came, seemingly amused.

Viktor felt relieved. At least his ears weren’t ringing from all the shouting anymore. “Mila, I have to go.”

Mila hummed, almost teasingly. “Okay. Be safe, you boys!”

“Mila—”

But the call had already ended.

Viktor sat back, threw the phone on the table carelessly, and sighed of frustration.

It took a while for him to notice that Yuuri was observing him from across the table, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Was it your friends?” Yuuri asked.

“Yeah.”

“Were they wondering if we're banging yet?”

Viktor’s heart stopped.

What the hell.

What was he supposed to say to that?

He might have turned really, really red by now—he could tell from the way his face and ears were heating up and the way Yuuri was smirking at him.

The little shit.

-

The next few days were a series of bad mornings and trembling muscles.

Yuuri wasn’t even remotely suggesting that they worked on any of Viktor’s programs yet, said he wanted to make sure the foundations were up to the tee and everything else would come easily after that. The Russian nationals was drawing near, and Viktor wondered if Yuuri was still joking about this coaching bullshit.

He tried to slack off, truly. But Yuuri so often did something rather touchy and flirtatious it would send Viktor skittering back toward the ice, listening to Yuuri coaching him instead of being in odd, rather uncomfortable situations (mostly Viktor blushing so bad he’d get a laugh from Yuuri).

“Remember this when you jump,” Yuuri pressed his palm against Viktor’s stomach, firm and sure. “Tighten up here, so you could brace yourself better when you make your landing.” Yuuri’s hand travelled to Viktor’s lower back, causing shivers down his spine. “Make sure to focus your strength here as well, so you don’t lose your footing. That’s why you’re falling so much.”

Viktor’s gaze slid to Yuuri, which the other returned with an almost dangerous calm. “I don’t know why, but I’m getting the feeling you’re enjoying this too much, coach.”

Yuuri’s expression changed momentarily, then he smiled. “Oh?” His fingers brushed a long line across Viktor’s spine. “Am I the only one, though?”

Viktor wasn’t going to lie, he loved this little game they’re playing; one always trying to outwit the other, and it was making the scathing training all the more interesting.

The day went on with Viktor repeatedly trying a few quads and failing, getting sermons from Minako about being too stiff, back at the rink again for practices on his spins and execution. By the end of the day, Viktor was about ready to drop like a sack of muscle and bones.

Until Yuuri suggested they go out for a drink.

“I thought I should be avoiding the drinking?” Viktor had wondered, just after Yuuri had knocked on his door that night.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Yuuri shrugged. “I didn’t prohibit you, remember? Come on, I’m having a bad day.”

To be fair, Viktor liked the idea. He was tired as hell but he really wanted a drink as well. How many days has it been since he drank something alcoholic? Four? He wasn’t about to let his blooming alcoholism down. He was his father’s son after all.

So they went.

Nothing too flashy or too expensive, Viktor noticed. It was one of those underground clubs that almost seemed like it was a hole-in-the-wall, filled with dirt and planks and whatever trash that were meant to decorate it. You know, the kind of clubs poets and writers and all the depressed people in the world went to.

The music that played over the place was also either techno, a lot of synth, or almost anything that’s fucking depressing.

Viktor didn’t know if Yuuri went there for the sake of it’s underground, rebellious appeal, or if he was just as cheap as Viktor suspected. Yuuri, as Viktor had learned in the past week, was hardly someone who liked flashy things. So that’s nice. Maybe Viktor liked him a bit better for that.

“Hey, you come here often?” Viktor teased, arms leaning against the bar, their seventh round of vodka in front of them.

With a blank face, Yuuri stared. “I work here.”

It took a moment before Viktor got the joke, then he started laughing. “Don’t tell me that’s happened to you.”

“Not to me, thank god,” Yuuri shook his head, chuckling. “But my best friend Phichit apparently made the same embarrassing mistake _twice_.”

“How?”

“He asked the bartender.”

Viktor huffed laugh.

“To be fair, he was drunk as shit.” Yuuri drank down his Vodka with one swift swig, then looked to Viktor, voice challenging. “And here I thought you could compete with me.”

“Oh?” Viktor sat up, rising to the challenge. He downed his glass, felt the alcohol burn, and shook his head.

“Pft,” Yuuri smirked. Impersonating what sounded to be his pathetic version of a New Yorker’s accent, he jabbed, “Can’t hold your liquor, old sport?”

"That was a _terrible_ accent." Viktor looked toward a particular bottle on the top shelf, considering.

It was probably a bad idea.

He raised his hand, called over the rather attractive bartender, and said, “Line up eight shots of tequila for each of us, please.”

Yup, definitely a bad idea.

The bartender looked at them suspiciously, shook her head, but went to get the drinks as requested when Yuuri slipped her a black American Express card.

For all of Yuuri’s humility, he wasn’t one to hold himself back when he’s blaringly drunk, apparently.

Viktor's going to have to regret this tomorrow, then.

Right at the moment, he was confident and giddy, so who gives a shit?

As soon as everything was set, people were forming a small semi-circle around them, cheering and raising their drinks (some patting Viktor’s back for encouragement). He couldn’t count how many they were, mostly because his vision was blurring slightly.

The crowd behind them counted down, “Three, two, one...Cheers!”

In a heartbeat, Viktor was downing glass after glass of tequila. If he ever got to the end of it, he didn’t know.

Everything went dark halfway through.

-

Viktor woke up, his head aching (nothing new), and in a different room (still, nothing new).

He found out that he was very naked beneath the white sheets, stomach disgustingly sticky from what was most likely dried semen.

Before he could even get up, he heard the door to the bedroom open, then a gasp. “What on earth?”

Viktor got up so fast, his hangover got to him really quickly. He was too busy thinking about whether he was smack in the middle of someone getting caught cheating to even notice the body beside him groan.

He didn't look at the one who had just walked in, but instead, his eyes went toward the person lying beside him on the bed. Viktor watched as the said person shifted, then he rolled on his back—

Yuuri.

Yuuri freaking Katsuki.

Viktor’s mouth went dry.

Yuuri rubbed his eyes, seemingly not noticing Viktor, and looked to the other standing by the bedroom door. “Phichit,” Yuuri yawned. “Something you need—”

He must have seen the look on his friend’s face because slowly, Yuuri turned toward Viktor.

And from what his face looked like, eyes filled with outmost shock, Viktor knew he didn’t remember shit about last night either.

_Well, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may have not been having a shit day lately and poured it all into this chapter. I still don't know how I feel about this, though.
> 
> I'm also starting to realize that I am _not_ , in any way, capable of writing proper role model characters unless it's angst-driven and life-ruining in general. So don't follow the sad author's example, kids.
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments, old sport.


	4. Firsts and Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the captain of the Viktuuri ship was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this fic was supposed to have only 6 chapters? Yeah, me too. Good times.

“So, um—I should probably—” Phichit, now that Viktor had finally met him, stood awkwardly by the door, his feet shifting nervously. He also didn’t seem like he knew where to look, so he settled for the carpet instead. “I should—I should probably step out for a moment, shouldn’t I?”

Yuuri’s hands were covering his face, expression going unseen. “Yes, Phichit. That’s a great idea. You could do that right about now.”

Without another word, Phichit walked back outside and closed the door gently.

There was silence for a moment. Viktor didn’t even know if it was right to look at Yuuri’s way, now that they were what seemed to be in a very strange situation.

“Does he normally just walk in and out of your apartment like that?” Viktor asked, finally.

_Wonderful, just wonderful. What a way to start the conversation, Vitya._

Yuuri looked at him sharply, blinked—and then he laughed, a full-bellied laugh that had him tapping out unto the mattress. “Seriously?” He huffed, giggling while shaking his head. “Is that what you normally say the morning after?”

“I’m usually gone by the time it’s morning,” Viktor shrugged, massaging his aching temples. “Or whoever I was with would be gone by then. Depends. Sometimes, there’s a note. Most times, none—” Viktor cut himself off before he could say more. Was it the hangover? Was he still drunk? Because Yuuri didn’t need to hear his babbling the first thing in the morning. “In other words, I really don’t know what to say to you right now.”

Viktor heard Yuuri snort. He looked to him and frowned, “What’s that for?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri said. “Go put some clothes on.”

He clutched the blankets closer to himself. “And why do I have to be the first to get out of the sheets?”

“Because if you did, it won’t be something I haven’t already seen. Sober.”

Viktor clutched at the sheets even tighter. “Turn around.”

Yuuri smirked. “Shy, are we?”

“Just—just do it, please.”

As Yuuri turned, Viktor heard him still chuckling, unaware of the fact that Viktor had turned extremely red. Or maybe he was aware, and it would explain why Yuuri was making fun of him. He threw the sheets aside, feet wobbling as he spotted his boxers and pants strewn across the floor, but his shirt was nowhere to be found. He slipped them on anyway, waited for his chest to stop thrumming, before he was facing Yuuri again. Shirtless, but not naked.

And Yuuri was—Yuuri was facing his way.

“Were you watching?”

“Like I said, nothing I haven’t seen before.” He sat up, the blankets slipping off his chest, but enough to cover anything below the waist. There were—Jesus, there was a long line of purple and red marks running down his throat. “What do you remember?”

“I didn’t remember finishing the drinks,” Viktor shrugged. “You?”

“That I won, then that’s it.” Yuuri yawned, looking a bit pale.

Viktor looked to him suspiciously. “That could very well be a lie.”

“Ah, but you didn’t know what happened after so I guess you don’t have much of a choice,” Yuuri waved a hand dismissively. “Also, you should know that if I had been sober, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Of course.

“Oh?” Viktor cocked an eyebrow, hands going to his waist. He wanted to ask anyway. “Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t have been right. Drunk people’s consent hardly mean anything,” Yuuri’s fingers touched the marks on his neck and winced slightly. Viktor felt himself internally wincing as well. “But as I don’t even remember how we got home safely, I’m a bit concerned as to whether it was just the two of us who went home last night.”

Viktor’s jaw went slack, stiffening in his shock, and then he laughed. Yuuri was smiling along with him. “My, Yuuri. Such dirty, dirty kinks you have.” He gestured for the door. “I’ll be outside.”

As he went out into the living room, he was welcomed with the smell of coffee wafting through the morning air. At least Viktor didn’t feel like puking this morning, so if there was anything new, it was probably because his hangover had been kinder to him.

Usually, if his hangover wasn’t killing him in the morning, it meant that he went at it hard.

Damn, how rough had he and Yuuri gone last night?

“Sorry if it seems like I’m intruding,” Phichit smiled at him from across the kitchen counter, scratching an excited Vicchan, his phone in hand. “Did you want coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sugar and milk?”

“Black, thank you.” Viktor’s eyes went around the living room, in search for his shirt.

“Oh, by the way, catch!” Viktor looked to Phichit just in time to catch the fabric being hauled at him. “Found this outside the apartment,” he snorted. “Man, you two couldn’t wait last night, huh? I wonder if I should talk to the nice old lady next door...”

Viktor wished that he could turn into a puddle right then and there. Maybe get absorbed by the carpet. Then he could evaporate into the cold air.

“Thanks,” he gestured at the shirt.

Phichit was looking at him, observant, then his expression changed—somewhat like, wait, was that of approval?

Oh. Viktor had almost forgotten he was walking around shirtless—covered in spunk no less. Muttering an intelligible curse in Russian, he slipped on his shirt and cracked his neck, just because he didn’t know exactly what to do. This was weird. He should probably think about something to talk about...the weather, maybe?

“And oh, Viktor,” Phichit pointed at his neck. “You should probably, uh, never mind. Nothing we could do about it now, can we?”

“Huh?”

“Again, with your limited vocabulary,” Yuuri had found his way into the living room, now fully clothed, hair rumpled and glasses askew. “You have an enormous hickey, is what Phichit meant.”

“What?” Viktor went to press around his neck, and there, he felt the familiar sting of a light bruise. It went all the way down to his chest, too.

Phichit went across the room to hand Viktor his cup of coffee. “Did you guys—”

“Had sex? Obviously.” Yuuri went to the sofa and inelegantly crashed unto it, wincing slightly. Vicchan went to jump up the couch and curled into a ball beside him. “Remember it? Not a thing.”

Viktor stayed silent, standing very still. He didn’t know how exactly he should be reacting, so he resorted to busying himself sipping at the cup of coffee in his hand.

Phichit blinked. His gaze went from Yuuri to Viktor, then back again. “Wow,” he smirked, looking most interested. “Who do you think topped?”

Viktor choked on his coffee. “I—don’t think—”

“I think it was him,” Yuuri shifted in his seat, wincing again. “My ass hurts.”

Viktor was still recovering from his coughing fit when Phichit began laughing. He had never wanted to turn into water vapour as much as he did in that moment.

“Phichit,” Yuuri groaned, pinching his nose, eyes closed. “You’re my best friend, aren’t you?”

“Only when you help me with the drafts.”

Yuuri ignored him, still looking pained. “Can you pick up some painkillers from the drugstore down the street? I will be in your debt.”

“Is it for the hangover or your vagina?”

“Both.”

“Okay,” Phichit went to retrieve his wallet from his bag and stopped momentarily at the door, glancing back at Yuuri. “Did you want the morning-after pill, too?”

Yuuri chucked a throw pillow his way.

Phichit giggled, stuck his tongue out, and stepped outside.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Viktor exhaled, one he held a few moments too long. “Why?”

Yuuri opened an eye to look at him. “Why, what?”

“Do you often tell your friends you had sex and your ass hurts?”

“Of course, don’t you?” Yuuri got up from the sofa, went to the sink, and got himself some water. “I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t know getting smashed would end up with us falling into the same bed.”

“I’d love to tell you not to be, but I don’t remember shit,” Viktor went to the barstool, set his half-empty cup almost gingerly, and leaned his head against the bar. “I need those painkillers just about now. Why don’t you have painkillers at the ready anyway?”

“I don’t usually have hangovers,” Yuuri shrugged, downing his glass of water.

“That’s funny,” Viktor smiled, though he didn’t look up. “I thought you’d be feeling it in your legs by now, old man.”

Yuuri hummed. “Monday seems like a good day to start doing the extra five miles, yes?”

Viktor raised his head quickly in horror. “Yuuri!”

“Besides, aren’t you young enough to do that?” Yuuri went to the sink to wash the glass he’d used, dried it, and put it away. “Old man Yuuri probably can’t manage. But don’t worry, I’ll be on the bike!”

“If old man Yuuri can’t manage, why would he bother going with me?”

“To make sure you don’t slack off, of course!” Yuuri grinned.

That, as Viktor will forever remember, was the scariest expression Yuuri could ever make. The last time he smiled like that, was after Viktor complained about doing too many jump attempts in succession. Still grinning, Yuuri had cheerily told him to go up and down the stairs until he was told to stop. The building had eight floors. Viktor lost count of how many times he went up and down. By the time he was done, he had soreness in his legs that lasted three days.

He swallowed. Wait, was he also sweating a little? Shit.

Yuuri leaned against the bar, looking at Viktor fondly. “Besides, the fact that I’m feeling it in my lower back just about now meant that old man Yuuri must have struggled to keep up with you last night.”

A shiver went up Viktor’s spine, rendering him speechless.

Before he could as much as think, Yuuri’s lips were already on his; chaste and gentle. Viktor began to kiss back, but Yuuri was already pulling away. “That, at least, we’ll remember.”

-

The following week, Yuuri had deemed it appropriate to start on Viktor’s choreography.

They never talked about what had happened the week before that—that one reckless night of sex that they both remembered none of. Phichit would come visit Yuuri’s apartment from time to time, Yuuri helping him edit some papers he needed for graduate school, and Viktor carried on holding Skype chats with the people working for him back in Russia. All that in between training and Viktor had enough of his energy drained to even secretly reach out to the bottle of wine on Yuuri’s bar. He’ll usually take a quick shower, then he’ll sleep. Then, repeat the next day.

It was nice not having to feel strange about it. It was no big deal, after all. But why did it feel like something was being left intentionally unaddressed? Instead of feeling relieved that Yuuri was saving him the awkwardness, Viktor rather felt all the more uncomfortable about it.

“I’m going to have you listen to the songs first,” Yuuri told him, standing on the ice like he always belonged there, clad in his usual training gear. “Are you ready?”

“Sure.”

Yuuri went on to play the music for his short program. It was, well, it wasn’t what he expected Yuuri Katsuki to even consider skating to. It was a psychedelic, synth-pop melody laid over with very melodramatic lyrics.

Viktor raised his eyebrows.

“What do you think?”

Did Yuuri just fiddle nervously at his hands?

“I know this song,” Viktor admitted. “Electric Love.”

“So?”

_Candy, she’s sweet like candy in my veins. Baby, I’m dying for another taste._

BØRNS. Electric Love. Viktor’s danced to this song before, but he couldn’t remember exactly when. What he vaguely remembered was getting up upon hearing it, in a club—and was it in Sochi? He couldn’t remember anything else, though.

_Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle, I can’t let you go now that I got it._

_And all I need is to be struck by your electric love._

_Baby, your electric love._

Viktor closed his eyes, and smiled. “I loved it. Always have.”

Yuuri sighed, almost sounding relieved. His cheeks were slightly pink, and endearingly so. “Okay, we’ll work on this one first. Are we ready?”

His heart fluttered. For the first time since he was sixteen, he’s never been this eager to skate.

Dancing to it was nice, Viktor admitted. He loved the way Yuuri held his arms, almost swinging him around as he was instructed to do spins, beautiful step sequences Yuuri Katsuki was known for, and eventually the jumps. Just placeholder jumps, Yuuri said he’ll plan those out later once they’ve made sure Viktor could memorize the rest of choreography.

By the end of the first run through, though he was still making enormous mistakes, Viktor found himself asking for more. He wasn’t the least tired, wasn’t complaining a bit, and for a second he felt something he’s never felt in a long time—the feeling of loving something he long locked up in his heart before.

“I loved this song when I first heard it, too.” Yuuri said, panting a little, sweating from swinging Viktor around.

Yuuri’s hands were in Viktor’s, soft and gentle and tentative and—as Viktor would dare say—almost as if it were a gentle caress.

Viktor ran his thumb across Yuuri’s knuckles, almost absent-mindedly, and Yuuri looked up to him with a tentative gaze. “I didn’t take you for a synth-pop guy.”

“I dabble in Fleetwood Mac and Roxette from time to time,” Yuuri looked down to desperately hide his blush, which he didn’t manage. “Maybe a bit of Queen, too. What do you like?”

“The Velvet Underground,” Viktor said, still running his thumb across Yuuri’s delicate knuckles. “Maybe I’ll play a few songs for you next time.”

This had been strange.

They never had such a conversation like so before. They’ve talked about the weather, Viktor’s apparent alcoholism, Yuuri’s love for food and how he hated the restrictions—but nothing like this. It was almost tender. Like in expressing Viktor’s love for music, he was baring a chunk of his soul to someone.

“Yuuri,” Viktor spoke, his breath turning to mist. “If it’s not too much to ask, can I hear the Free Skate music you have in mind?”

Yuuri looked up to him, surprised by the normalcy of the question. “I was planning to,” he said. “But you can choose another one if you like. I heard from Mila you liked choosing your own music.”

“I do,” he said. “I was wondering what it is you prepared.”

In response, Yuuri let go of Viktor’s hand and reached for the stereo’s remote, then pressed play.

Viktor had to stop for a while to listen. Unlike the music for his Short Program, it was a simple, soothing melody comprised of gentle piano notes and Italian lyrics. Viktor has never skated to anything remotely emotional or sad before—the music almost depicting a certain level of longing and a call for help. Viktor didn’t like emotions, didn’t let them come through his skating if he could help it, but he’s never wanted to skate to something like it before.

“It’s Italian,” Viktor said, stating the blaringly obvious fact.

Yuuri smiled, face attentive, and then slowly, he closed his eyes. “I’ve acquired the permission to use this song after the previous season ended. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Viktor nodded. Realizing that Yuuri still had his eyes closed, he added, “Yes. I love it. Please don’t change the song.”

“Stay Close to Me.”

“What?” Viktor looked to Yuuri’s relaxed face, eyes still closed. He almost looked serene.

“That’s the song’s name. Stay Close to Me,” he said, opening his eyes now. “Do you have any idea how we should choreograph it?”

Viktor blinked. “What?”

Yuuri snorted.

Shit. Viktor could almost hear the thoughts running at the back of Yuuri’s mind. _There we go again with your limited vocabulary, Viktor._

“So?”

“Are you asking me to choreograph the song myself?”

“Yes?” Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you do that?”

He exhaled. “Well, I mostly make Yakov or Lilia do the job because they’ve been forcing me to compete. A flair of rebelliousness, if you will.”

“If you meant stubbornness, you are not wrong,” Yuuri smirked. “But as you heard the song, you’re not entirely opposed to choreographing it yourself, are you? You already have an idea of how to do it in your head, I can tell.”

_Damn._

“You do know you brought me here on a very untimely blackmail, don’t you?”

Yuuri reached for Viktor’s hand. Viktor had to resist the urge to suddenly jump at the sensation. It’s not like Yuuri’s never done it before. “Yes, but you must admit, deep in that thick, alcoholic head of yours, you’re just as a drunk on the idea of skating as I am. You love it, you just don’t want to admit it.” Yuuri brought Viktor’s hand to his lips, kissed it gently, eyes fluttering close. “So, would you please tell me, what do you think that song is about?”

Viktor swallowed. “Longing. A cry for help.”

“If it were you longing and crying for help,” Yuuri blew at Viktor’s wrists, hot breath causing shivers down Viktor’s spine. “How would you interpret it?”

“I don’t know, I’m not—”

“Let’s assume you're not. But how?”

Viktor thought for a long moment, swallowing repeatedly, and then he straightened up. “That I longed to skate the same way that I used to. I want to go back to how it wasn’t such a chore. When it wasn’t all about winning golds and getting to the podium.”

“Okay,” Yuuri pulled at the sleeves of Viktor’s sweater, running his gloved thumb over the sensitive skin of his pulse. “Can you show me a few sequences? For the first few minutes?”

“Huh?”

Yuuri let his hand go. “Go on.”

“Oh my god, you _are_ making me do this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri glided backwards, still looking at him. “Now, skate like I’m not here. Skate like you would have when you were sixteen and you loved it.”

Was this still part of training?

Viktor took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts out of his mind. The faster he did what Yuuri asked him to, the faster it would be to shut him up. He heard the music stop, then played again. At first Viktor tried, feeling the ice beneath his blades first, then he went on to move with his body—his messed up mind pushed out of the way.

He danced, a few steps, a few spins. A few doubles and triples, nothing more. He moved with the effort to coax a heart he had allowed to freeze over time.

Viktor was sweating, panting, but he couldn’t stop his body from moving. He couldn’t stop even if he felt his muscles straining, his body complaining, his stubborn mind writhing. He loved the ice, being in it, and there was no gold medal that will ever make for the beauty of expression the ice had brought him.

Before he noticed, the song had stopped, and so had Viktor’s movements.

He was heaving, sweat trickling. Did he just skate to a whole song? Without him noticing? And where was Yuuri?

Yuuri stood at the side, eyes looking very fond, and finally, he smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

-

They carried on working with the choreography in the following weeks.

They still came to visit Minako, but most of their time was spent in the rink, running through the steps again and again, until both of them break. Yes, even Yuuri was exerting all the effort he could muster, being hands-on as much as he could, demonstrating moves when Viktor couldn’t do them on repeat.

“Close your eyes,” Yuuri said to him.

Viktor wanted to know exactly why he was being asked to do something strange, but knowing that this was Yuuri, he’d rather not ask about it.

So he did.

Yuuri cleared his throat. “When you listen to the music, there’s a story in it somewhere, yes?”

Viktor nodded.

“Imagine what that story is, then express it, as you would on the ice.”

Viktor opened one eye. “A story?”

“Yes, a story,” Yuuri crossed his arms in front of him. And as he did, a stream of sweat trickled down his neck. “I know skating can be a way to express emotions, but I know you’re still hesitant about it. Try imagining a story instead. Play a role. Do you think that’ll help?”

Though frustrated, Viktor nodded and skated toward the centre of the rink, head bowed low.

“You don’t have to start from the beginning,” Yuuri called over. “Come in when you’re ready.”

The music starts.

Guitar sequences.

Vocals.

Psychedelic aura.

_Drowning, you make my heart beat like the rain._

_Surround me, hold me deep beneath your weight._

_Thunder’s getting louder, and louder._

Viktor pictures out a younger version of himself. His silver hair was long and spilling across his shoulders. A hot mess. Drunk on both Vodka and hormones and infatuation. A young man in front of him. What was his name again? Surely, he would remember his name, at least. Viktor had lost his virginity to him.

Viktor had loved him, with the kind of love he was capable of giving at fifteen, and—

What happened again?

Oh, right. Viktor’s heart got broken.

He was spiralling—deeper, deeper. Into his own consciousness.

_I feel your energy rushing through me._

He didn’t know if he was doing any of his steps right. He didn’t know he was doing any of the spins as perfectly as Yuuri wanted him to do them. He skated, danced to the music and glided ice the way he knew it, felt the music like—like no one was looking.

_And all I need is to be struck by your electric love._

One step, and then there was pain.

What happened?

As soon as his vision came back to him, he saw Yuuri kneeling next to him, so what—oh. He’d fallen.

“Are you alright?” Yuuri’s hand went to look for his own, checking, fumbling. “Viktor?”

“I fell, that’s all.” Viktor allowed himself to be helped up, Yuuri looking at him worriedly. “I guess I just fucked up.”

Yuuri put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “You were wonderful,” Yuuri said, eyes soft. “You were _absolutely_ wonderful, Viktor. Please never think of yourself that way again.”

He couldn’t explain the sudden tug of emotion in his chest, and why it was there in the first place. Yuuri always touched him, and he did just that in return, so why did it feel absolutely different? “Okay,” Viktor chuckled. “Do you want me to run it again, or?”

“Yes, once more.” Yuuri said. “Then we go work on your Free Skate, which to be honest, needs a ton more practice.”

Viktor pouted.

“Seriously, go. I’ll run the music again. Okay?” Yuuri laughed. He had a pretty laugh.

-

On Friday, Yuuri decided to reward him.

Knowing how Yuuri Katsuki was, it was nothing grand, but the Japanese restaurant was nice. They were seated on what Yuuri called tatami mats, in a private dining room, wooden tables low, and with food and _sake_ laid in front of them.

“You have no idea how long it took for me to find this place,” Yuuri sighed. His cheeks were a bit pink, mostly thanks to the _sake_ they ordered a few minutes ago. “There are so many _Japanese restaurants_ that just served all sorts of raw food and call them sushi. Honestly, it’s a travesty.”

“Other people don’t seem to complain.”

Yuuri looked to him sharply, expression harassed. “You have no idea! Have you ever tasted the katsudon they make in one of those shitty, shitty restaurants? Terrible. Absolutely fucking terrible. It should be illegal.”

Viktor laughed. He was feeling the heat coming from under his skin, too. He loved talking to Yuuri when he’s a bit tipsy, loved how Yuuri was less restrained and more likely to fess up. Sure, he pretty much talks about his sex life with Phichit, but not this—not cursing, giggling, and making atrocious jokes. Viktor figured he liked this version of him.

“Do you mind?”

Viktor’s staring trance was interrupted by Yuuri raising a stick of cigarette, asking for permission.

“Sure,” Viktor waved him away. “I don’t know why you’d still ask, though.”

“I always ask for permission.”

“Not when you’re sending me on an extra five mile run.”

“Hah,” Yuuri snorted. He proceeded to light his cigarette, inhaled, and turned away from Viktor to blow his smoke.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you’d smell it on me eventually.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Doesn’t it affect your lungs or something?" Viktor gestured at his chest. "I don’t mean to be such a mother, but that’s going to cost you some lung stamina or whatever.”

“Very eloquent, as usual.” Yuuri laughed. “No, just—I have nerves sometimes. I can’t have a breakdown mid-competition, so I need to find something to settle them somehow. It’s this.” He raised the slim stick and waved it around lightly. “Celestino knows, but it’s not like he’s been trying to stop me. He thinks they work, I guess.”

“Whoa.” Viktor shook his head. “Did Yuuri Katsuki just tell me, a mere mortal, that he suffers from nerves in competitions?”

“Why, don’t you?” Yuuri dragged smoke from his cigarette, and exhaled.

“Nope. Not really. Just kind of pissed they forced me, I guess.”

“Lucky.”

“What are you nervous about?” Viktor spat.

_Goddammit. Why don’t I ever think before I speak?_

Yuuri stared back, looking rather surprised.

Viktor tried reeling back. “You know, you don’t have to answer—”

“You,” Yuuri said, almost sheepishly. “I’m nervous about coaching you. You’ve already been struggling to try to love skating again, and here I am, shoving it back into your face like I had the right to. Maybe I shouldn’t have acted to rashly.”

Viktor’s mouth was wide open, shocked.

“Well?”

“Yuuri,” he put his face in his hand and sighed. “You do know that the press craze has died down by now, don’t you?”

Yuuri only stayed silent, the ash of his cigarette building up at the tip.

“You spritz my face with cold water every day, make me run ten miles in the morning, then have me practice several quads I haven’t even landed on competition yet,” Viktor said, hand somehow finding Yuuri’s. “All that and I’m still here. What does that tell you?”

Yuuri’s hand tightened on Viktor’s, not saying anything, but eyes meaningfully trailed on Viktor’s own. Abandoning his cigarette on the other hand, he said, “Can I do something?”

“Like what?”

Yuuri didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned over the table, and then suddenly, his lips were on Viktor’s. He tasted of _sake_ and smoke and Yuuri. It wasn’t as chaste as it was before, not forceful enough, but it had the right amount of pressure to make Viktor’s head stutter uncontrollably.

Viktor leaned forward and kissed back, his hand going to the nape of Yuuri’s neck, angling their lips for better access. Yuuri bit down Viktor’s lower lip, and he groaned. He pulled at Yuuri’s collar, pulling him closer—

Someone cleared their throat.

They both broke apart so quickly, it hurt to land on his butt. Viktor looked to the corner, and saw Phichit, standing there with his camera phone pointed at them. “Ah, young love.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri was looking really, really red. He raised his arm and pointed at Phichit. “You better delete that thing right now.”

“Or what?” Phichit mused happily. “No can do, but I promise I won’t cock block you ever again.”

For a very long moment, the private dining room was silent. Then, as if still riding high on Yuuri’s kiss, Viktor laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! BØRNS is a lovely artist and I highly suggest you check his music. (:
> 
> Tell me what you think, loves.


	5. Ice and Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russian Nationals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I do not, for the life of me, understand the event schedules and stuff so pardon me if I get any of them wrong.
> 
> Second of all, I've already told you that this was loosely-based on canon so the competions (including Vitya's performance, his competitors, his medals) will have to go along smoothly with canon parallels. So, in other words, sometimes I do not elaborate things because I assume you get the general picture anyway. Take it as something that rebuilds Yuuri and Viktor's off-rink relationship. You'll get this soon enough.
> 
> Enough of that, here we go.

The Russian Nationals that year wasn’t so terrible. No, not at all.

Except Viktor was being mobbed by the press (damn fuckers) and Yuuri acted like this had been fine. Well, it’s fine for Yuuri Katsuki—it’ll be a miracle if it wasn’t—but Viktor’s opinion about it was a different story. Viktor had a few fans here and there and that in itself had already made him feel too overexposed. He realized that staying in Detroit was kind of a great idea, for the most part.

Mila had ran to Viktor’s arms as soon as she saw him, delightfully congratulating him on not blowing off the season, as well as murmuring jabs in Russian. “A little birdie told me you and your coach have a thing.”

“Does the little birdie go by the name of Phichit Chulanont? Because I will impale him.”

Not surprisingly, Yuuri’s co-competitors have come to like Phichit as well, having skated internationally before he changed his mind and all. Viktor liked him too, in fact. He just didn’t like it when he’s told Mila about things that shouldn’t even concern anyone—like Viktor and Yuuri’s occasional touches, sometimes pecks on the cheeks, most times tender grasps on the arms when talking to each other. No big deal, right?

Yuuri’s hands were suddenly on Viktor’s, enclosing his palms in warmth. “You’re cold. Nervous?”

Viktor was seated on a bench in the changing room, wrapped up in his old jacket, costume slightly loose and itchy against his skin.

He looked up to Yuuri, who had his hair down, glasses on. He was also wearing a pressed suit, one Viktor had eyed earlier that morning. “No. Okay, maybe a little. I haven’t been skating competitively in a while, so...”

Yuuri shut him up with a gentle peck on the lips, proceeded to move behind him, and searched their bags for hair gel. Viktor let him do his hair, far too overwhelmed by the series of events that they’ve gone through since coming to Russia. Yura hasn’t even shown up yet—and that, Viktor was looking forward to. Not in a good way, of course. He’ll probably get a bruise or two after the encounter.

“Your hair looks pretty either way but,” Yuuri brushed the hairs on the side of Viktor’s head, making sure nothing was sticking out. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do anything to see you cleaned up like this every day.”

_God damn._

Muttering what he liked about Viktor certainly wasn’t helping with the nerves.

Viktor sighed. “It used to be a lot longer.”

“I know,” Yuuri almost hummed, throat breathy. “Nevertheless, you know what you could do, don’t you? You know you could enthral anyone if you wanted to, Viktor Nikiforov.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Besides, isn’t that proven already?” Yuuri moved closer, breath hot in Viktor’s ear. “You come to the club and find yourself a pretty face, and the next thing you know, they’re all over you. Texting you the next morning. Then you do it again, a hot mess if you will.”

Has the room suddenly felt so, so small? Was he sweating? What the hell was happening? He tried retracing his steps—he’s in Russia, he’s about to compete at the nationals, he should be working on his nerves—and Jesus Christ, Yuuri’s fingers are tracing long, gentle lines across his spine.

“I don’t know if I liked that or not about you,” Yuuri whispered. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine, yes? That’s enough to seduce an audience. Treat them like they’re the pretty thing you always wanted to pick up—”

Viktor was relieved to have heard the door open.

Wait, scratch that—he was not. Standing there, was Yuri, looking rather pissed (for the record, he always looked pissed, so it wasn’t all that alarming). He looked to Viktor, huffed a snort, and then his eyes went to Yuuri.

“What,” Yuri snarled. “Do you think you’re doing?”

Yuuri blinked at him, pulled himself upright, and shrugged. “Coaching?”

“Don’t give me that, you geezer.” Yuri replied almost instantly. “What is this? Are you bored? Did you feel like it was fine to just fly all the way here, decided you coach someone, and then that’s it?”

“I don’t see why this is a crime,” Yuuri stared back coolly, his usual humoured look coming back to his expression again. “I mean, if Viktor lands the podium this competition, which he will, wouldn’t that mean you could all represent Russia? Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Viktor?”

Viktor nodded half-heartedly.

“Psh,” Yuri turned to the door. “I’m still not holding back,” he pointed at Viktor. “I won’t hold back and I will prove that it would have been better if you stayed in Russia to train.”

And with that, the doors slammed closed, leaving Viktor and his coach alone in the room once more. The silence was almost weird, not the kind that surprised them, but something like an understanding—like they both knew that was coming and it was kind of funny that it did.

“It’s hard to deal with all the fame at such a young age, huh?”

Viktor almost jumped as Yuuri plopped on the bench beside him, sighing.

“You mean Yura?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri looked to the door, rather concerned. Viktor has never seen such soft expression on Yuuri’s face before. It was unguarded and almost unnatural. “He’s mother’s a skater too, right? The poor kid’s probably being constantly mobbed by the press. It’s almost sad.”

“Was it like that for you?”

_Again, with the lack of filters, Vitya._

“Sure,” Yuuri looked to him, but he didn’t look like his heart was in it. “Getting free stuff from endorsements don’t seem all that bad, so it’s okay.” Yuuri jerked his chin toward Viktor’s hand. He didn’t look like he wanted to go on with the subject, so Viktor allowed him to avoid it. “Let me put on your gloves.”

“You don’t have—”

“I insist,” Yuuri smiled. “I’ve never coached before, so forgive me if I’m selfishly finding ways to make myself feel better about this. I really don’t know how to handle it all that well, so I figured I’ll spoil you instead.”

Viktor chuckled. “I thought coaches weren’t supposed to spoil their students. Gets in their heads.”

“Be thankful you’re my first, then,” Yuuri laughed a little. “Who’s your favourite author?”

Viktor was surprised he was asked about this out of nowhere, but it didn’t take much to answer, so he did. “Charles Dickens,” he answered absentmindedly. “Yours?”

Yuuri slipped the black gloves slowly unto Viktor’s hand. Without looking up, he replied, “Osamu Dazai.”

“That’s pretty dark,” he frowned.

“Or beautiful. You’ll never know unless you’ve read it a thousand times.”

“I have,” Viktor rolled his eyes. He may be a sluggard and a drunk, but that didn’t mean Viktor didn’t dabble in all things philosophical—or something like that. Yuuri probably still thinks his lack of vocabulary was because he was an illiterate shit. “Frankly, Dazai is wonderful, but he could be pretty fucking depressing sometimes.”

“So is Dickens, except he makes things seem like they’re fine,” Yuuri shrugged. “Maybe you’re just a romantic.”

Viktor snorted. “That, I am definitely not.”

“Oh?” Yuuri added a lilt to his tone, though he still wasn’t looking up. Instead, he moved to Viktor’s other hand, and slipped on the glove. “A Tale of Two Cities? The Great Expectations? Seriously, Viktor, just admit you’re a sap. It never hurt anyone.”

“I was thinking more of David Copperfield and Oliver Twist,” Viktor scowled at Yuuri, or tried to. He did love The Great Expectations, knew the book by heart since he was a teenager, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Yuuri, not like that. He didn’t even like David Copperfield all that much. “As if No Longer Human was any better.”

“Hey, a lot of things get lost in translation.” Yuuri straitened up, inspecting his handiwork. “I read the English version and it’s angsty as hell.”

Viktor couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘angsty’ in an appropriate discussion of Literature. Where’s old man Yuuri’s vocabulary now, I wonder?”

Yuuri grinned, almost too bright. For some very weird reason, Viktor felt extremely scared. “At the rink in Detroit, of course! You’ll be running up and down the steps before you even know it.”

Oh. Shit.

Viktor shivered.

-

Viktor was going in first.

He basically blocked out everything else except the sound of Yuuri’s voice, talking rapidly in words he comprehended only half of. It didn’t help that Yakov came to him earlier, wished him good luck, no other questions asked. Viktor decided that he’d have to talk to Yakov soon. It wasn’t like he just abandoned his former coach and disappeared, for he had cut ties cleanly right after his last GPF; and yet, Viktor still felt that it was rather rude of him to have appeared quite abruptly with a new coach out of nowhere.

Yura was still glaring his way, Mila ever so excited, and Georgi huffed what could only be a ‘good luck’ to him before he stepped out for the warm up.

He could feel that people’s eyes were on him. To be fair, Viktor was slightly famous in Russia, but he’s not gone out to venture much further outside the country. Most of his fans were girls or anyone interested in his looks, sometimes considered his skating a bonus—like that jerk in high school learning two songs on the guitar to win some sap’s heart over. He could see that there were people still cheering for him, though. One time, Phichit mentioned that Viktor’s fans were deeply saddened by his vague statements on a possible retirement. Viktor didn’t know where the fuck Phichit had gone scouring the internet for that kind of information, but he wasn’t so sure if he wanted the answer to that.

The speakers announced the end of the warm-up, signalling Viktor to stay on the ice for his performance.

The first public performance he’ll ever show anyone except Yuuri since last year.

“...Viktor? Are you listening to me?”

Viktor looked up to Yuuri, whose arms were crossed over his chest, looking somewhat glum. Why did he look so pissed?

The only thing he could do at the moment (without being awkward) was to stare down at his costume. Viktor didn’t want to go with Yuuri choosing one for himself because—because seriously, who ever bothered with that? It was pretty, though. A somewhat simple ensemble of a form-fitting top that glimmered in blue and gold, tucked underneath black trousers tailored to allow movement, complete with a pair of wonderful satin black gloves.

“What should I do with you, huh?” Yuuri put his palm on his forehead, panicking somewhat, and then his eyes flicked back to Viktor. Staring at him in consideration, Yuuri clicked his tongue. “Turn around?”

“What?”

“Just do it, Viktor Nikiforov.”

And Viktor did.

What happened next had him almost exploding internally—because holy shit Yuuri Katsuki was embracing him from behind. In front of everybody. In front of national television.

Oh my fucking god.

“You told me you were a fucking mess,” Yuuri whispered to him, voice strangely calm and collected. “To be honest, you still are, but I love that about you. So, show them. Show them what a hot mess you are, and how fucking beautiful that is.”

“Sure.”

Still dazed, throat almost closing up, Viktor skated to the centre of the ice.

There was a very tense silence at first, and then his cue begins.

Eyes still on Yuuri, Viktor finally moved.

_Candy, she’s sweet like candy in my veins._

_Baby, I’m dying for another taste._

Viktor was sixteen again, silver hair long and spilling over his naked shoulders.

He wasn’t wearing anything, prone and defenceless, drunk on Vodka and Rum. He was in a dingy bedroom, Pink Floyd playing over the speakers and echoing within the walls. Someone was pinning him to the mattress. His eyes were amber, gentle, drunk and high on weed.

_Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle._

_I can’t let you go now that I got it._

_And all I need is to be struck by your electric love._

Viktor lands a combination jump.

_Drowning, you make my heart beat like the rain._

_Surround me, hold me deep beneath your weight._

Viktor is in a club, thanks to his fake ID.

He was in a bathroom stall, to be precise, sweaty and horny and inevitably loud. He was bent over, facing the dirty toilet bowl, and the same boy behind him. Who was he? Viktor can never remember his name. Why can’t he remember his name, goddammit?

Viktor loved him. Loved him more than he could have ever loved at his tender age. So, why? Why did he break Viktor’s heart?

Viktor takes off, a quad Salchow almost perfectly executed—except he touched down.

He got up immediately anyway.

_Rushing through me._

_Feeling your energy rushing through me._

_I feel your energy rushing through me._

Nonsense. That was all in the past. The boy probably never thought about him these days. Viktor’s probably the only one hung up about it. He’s twenty-three years old, come on.

Viktor looked to the sides, and saw—Yuuri.

That’s right. Yuuri’s going to have to lecture him about his a thousand and one mistakes. He should do what he can.

_I can’t let you go now that I got it._

Viktor braced himself for a quad toe-loop, over-rotated it, but he didn’t fall.

He’s on his feet, still moving, until he finishes to the fading sound of the music.

Everything seems to blur for a moment, suddenly turning black, then all his senses seemed to have been heightened—on a hyperdrive, if you will. He could hear the sound of the crowd cheering, the music stopping, his breath trying to catch up to him. He looked up, not knowing what he was looking for, until he saw that Yuuri—Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and reigning World Ice Skating Champion, was grinning.

Grinning from Viktor’s performance.

He skated as quickly as he could, to where Yuuri was, arms automatically going around his waist. Viktor was very aware of the camera flashes going off, but that didn’t matter. He pulled off a performance for the first time in a long time and he didn’t end up splitting his skull.

“That was amazing,” Yuuri whispered softly. Then he pulled back, looked Viktor in the eyes, and shoved a finger in front of his face. “We need more practice on the back-entries, though. It’s pretty but definitely nothing to sneeze at. How about some endurance training? That works, right? Maybe the five mile run wasn’t a good idea, so how about taking the stairs to the apartment instead?”

“Yuuri!”

“You also get so distracted sometimes. It’s a problem—”

Viktor shut him up by embracing him again, only breaking apart when the speakers came again.

The speakers came on.

It announced the scores.

98.9 points.

What the fuck.

He surpassed his personal best by ten points.

What the actual fuck.

Viktor was still in a haze of disbelief when Yuuri hummed. “I thought you’d score in the hundreds, to be honest.”

“Whooo,” Viktor snorted. “Yuuri Katsuki, smiting us mortals again.”

He was rewarded by a scowl. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Yuuri sighed. “Seriously, it’s the nationals. You seemed confident enough.”

“Confidence doesn’t make up for skill.”

“True,” Yuuri shrugged. “I guess we’ll be needing two hours of extra practice tonight, huh?”

Groaning seemed to have become a staple nowadays. For Viktor, at least.

-

He finished third.

That was fine with Viktor, considering he’s gotten used to landing the same spot repeatedly for many years. He may have experienced winning golds before, but he’s not one to miss them all that much, to be honest. Yuuri also embraced him afterwards. No over excitedness, no pretending like he had just won the fucking Olympics; and truth be told, it felt nice. Georgi came in second to Yura, and for that, Viktor was glad. It was nice having to see all his rink mates take the lead.

He went out with Mila and Yuuri for dinner that night.

They had invited Yura, but were turned down before Viktor could even finish his sentence. Georgi—well, Georgi was still grovelling about the break up with Anya. It would’ve been understandable if the said breakup was fresh, but Georgi’s been at it for a whole year. He’s been talking non-stop, mostly shifting from dreamy recollections to bitter outrages, and whichever came first the other followed immediately after. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, Viktor was kind of glad Georgi had to piss himself crying for the night alone.

This, however, did not mean he could survive a night of suffering brought by Yuuri and Mila.

They seemed to have been close since Juniors—not like Viktor and Mila, who practically saw each other every day and have talked about most things together—but close enough to have them both teasing Viktor with outmost synchronicity. Like they shared a running joke that involved Viktor, and Viktor didn’t even know what it was.

As if the universe didn’t hate him enough.

“So Yuuri chose all the music for you?” Mila beamed.

“Yes?”

“Wow,” she shook her head. “Just—wow.” Mila then proceeded to look to Yuuri at Viktor’s side, smirking. “You sure do keep him on a tight leash, don’t you?”

Yuuri threw his head back and fixed his glasses. “Ah, no. I’m actually quite lenient, to be honest.” He picked at his food for a moment, looked to Mila, face humoured. “Well, not yet anyway.”

“Talk about lenient when you’re sending me to go running with a thousand-pound leg weight.” Viktor remarked. “Jesus, I feel like you’d want to injure me instead.”

Mila leaned in, squinting. “Does he?”

“I’m sure of it,” Viktor shot back, sipping at his watered-down iced tea.

“And do you like it?”

Viktor choked on his drink.

“My, what am I ever going to do with you,” Yuuri smirked. “Seeing that you choke from just that?”

-

“This costume is beautiful,” Yuuri said, as they were preparing in the hallways. “You look like a prince.”

It was true. Yuuri had personally requested that the tailor made sure it fit Viktor in all the right places but still allowing him movement. Fuchsia and gold, this time. It had wonderful knotted details on the front, a sheer ombre top and dark trousers, much more elegant than the first one he had.

The skater before him was about done with his routine, and Viktor was coming in next.

“Hug me?” Viktor tried.

Yuuri, wide-eyed and shocked, nodded. Tentatively, he looped his arms around Viktor’s neck, sharing his warmth. Yuuri looked good that day. He’s not used to seeing Yuuri wearing anything close to formal (well, not anymore since he started living with him) but the light blue shirt and the grey suit made him look so good. That, and his hair down.

_Damn._

“I still don’t know what your Free Skate means to you yet, but try?” Yuuri chuckled. “I know you don’t care about emotions and all that, but it’s good to have them.”

“Hmm,” Viktor broke the embrace and smiled. “Getting sentimental are we?”

“Only because they don’t have a smoking area.”

Viktor snorted. “Yeah, as if anyone’s going to stop you. They’ll probably get you a chair and an ashtray.”

“Lovebirds!” Mila called out, running down the hall. “Hate to break the moment, but Vitya needs to come in just about now.”

Viktor could see the faint blush forming on Yuuri’s pale cheek, but before he could even confirm it, Yuuri had already turned away and snapped his fingers. “Let’s go,” he said. “What a disappointment would it be to lose on a disqualification, don’t you think?”

Without a word, Viktor followed him out into the rink—and boy, was there more people than Viktor expected. They probably heard Yuuri was there and came rushing, or that many were losing to a fifteen-year-old, or that Georgi Popovich was once again making a fool of himself. Viktor didn’t care though; he was much too tense to care. Why was he tense again? Didn’t it use to be easy for him?

Sadly, his internal monologue was interrupted yet again, mostly by the sound of speakers going off. It announced his name, so he looked to Yuuri one last time before he pushed off into the centre of the ice.

_Find meaning, find meaning, find meaning._

_Dammit, what kind of meaning was Yuuri expecting him to find?_

_In a freaking Italian song?_

The cue started and he almost missed it. Oops.

But Viktor moved.

He moved because he had to, moved because it was the right thing to do at the moment.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Viktor sloppily executes his choreography. Shit.

He tried to backtrack, tried to calm his mind. That was the problem was it? His mind was too calm. What can he do about it? There’s something he ought to do—

_Con una spada vorrei tagliare quelle gole che cantano d'amore_

_Vorrei serrare nel gelo le mani che scrivono quei versi d'ardente passione_

“Imagine what that story is, then express it, as you would on the ice," Yuuri told him.

Viktor fell on a jump attempt.

_Questa storia che senso non ha_

_Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle_

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità_

What’s the story?

A young man, born to fame and loneliness. Always on top and always alone.

That works.

Viktor looked to where Yuuri was, and with as much as he could muster, poured all his energy into the story of his routine.

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

_Ho paura di perderti_

Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki, alone in his apartment, with only Vicchan to comfort him. Yuuri Katsuki, happily sharing dinner with Phichit, who can’t stay longer because he had papers to do. Phichit, being the wonderful friend he is, staying as late as he could; but never late enough.

Step sequences, perfect. Jumps, two-footed landings.

_Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_

_le mie mani, le mie gambe,_

Yuuri in College, constantly missing classes because he had practices and competitions. He was limping in the hallways, trying to get to his next class on the fourth floor, but his ankle was sprained and there was only so much he could take. He was dropping classes he couldn’t keep up with, sometimes feeling guilty when the dean gave him a little bit of leeway.

Biellmann spin. Yuuri loved Viktor’s Biellmann spin. He could do that, at least.

_e i battiti del cuore_

_si fondono tra loro_

Yuuri Katsuki at twenty-seven, bored out of his mind—trapped in it.

And oh, what a shame that was, for he had a beautiful mind. Probably filled with quotes from Ningen Shikkaku by Osamu Dazai, the songs from Queen and Fleetwood Mac. But no one knew about that, don’t they? They had to know. They needed to know what kind of person the living legend truly was. Yes, Yuuri was a legend, but he was not perfect. Perfection is boring.

Viktor’s final jump came on, and he landed it.

_Partiamo insieme_

_Ora sono pronto_

The music eventually faded.

Faded to nothing.

Until Viktor could only see the ice beneath his blades, Yuuri in front of him. The crowd was cheering, whooping, whistling. The commentator said something about Viktor coming back strong, but that didn’t matter.

Slowly, he skated to Yuuri, who smiled.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said. “That was beautiful. Thank you.”

-

Viktor ended up landing a bronze medal that night.

As a reward, Yuuri gave Viktor the permission to drink with Mila.

Mila and Viktor knew that inviting Georgi was out of the question, Yura was a year away from being legal in Russia yet, so they decided that it would be just the three of them. Unlike that fateful night that Yuuri and Viktor had apparently slept together, Viktor wasn’t in the mood for anything remotely reckless. Like tequila bombs. Or clubs.

No, he was much too tired for that.

Instead, they went to a small little food place that doubled as a bar near their hotel. Mila was inevitably drinking far too much, but Viktor had contented himself with enough for a light buzz in his head. She was talking very loudly, too—far too loud that had other people throwing glances at them from time to time. Yuuri had excused himself to go the bathroom minutes ago, and he was taking ages.

“Is there a line in the men’s room or something?” Viktor looked to the direction of the bathroom for good measure, and saw that Yuuri stood there, on his phone. There was indeed a line, but it didn’t look too much of a trouble to wait a little more. So that’s okay. Yuuri’s eyes found Viktor’s a moment later, and waved. Viktor waved back, slightly relieved.

“Why? Are you worried someone might nab him?”

Viktor looked to Mila. “We’re—”

“Not like that?” Mila snorted, obviously drunk as hell. “How many times have you said that anyway? Wait, don’t answer that, let me...” She cleared her throat dramatically, and then raised a finger. “Far too many times, Vitya. Seriously. It’s not like you two don’t have a _thing_.”

“I don’t get what you mean about ‘a thing’.”

“Ugh, kids these days, huh?” Mila drew closer, whispering. “Define the relationship, you idiot. Do it before it crosses over to the friendzone.”

Viktor laughed. “Now, would you look at that. Someone’s talking about themselves by accident.”

Mila frowned at this, hinting almost a warning, but then she turned to seriousness once again. “But seriously, Vitya. How far have you gone? Kissing? Hugs? Aw, like teenagers—”

“We slept together.”

Silence.

“Mila?”

Mila looked like she was staring into the headlights of an oncoming truck. She took Viktor’s face in her sweaty hands. “When? Why did you not tell me? When did this happen? How did it happen?” Mila’s breath smelled of alcohol. Well, that was good news. “Oh my god, you are technically together, aren’t you—”

“Neither of us remember it.”

Mila’s mouth went slack. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’d be happier if I wasn’t.”

“Oh, Vitya.” Mila bumped her forehead unto Viktor’s. There was an alarmingly loud cracking sound.

 _Ouch. Classic Mila, huh_. Viktor almost smiled to himself. It’s only been a few months and there were so many things that he missed. His rink mates improving a lot more than he expected them to, like Yura. But some of them are still endearingly the same, like Mila.

“What happened?” Yuuri was suddenly at the edge of the booth, gestured at Mila, looking half concerned and half just about to bend over laughing.

Viktor shifted so Mila’s weight was mostly on his shoulder. “She’s drunk as fuck.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Well, you know how she is.” Viktor called the waiter for the bill.

“No, I meant it’s because you’re friends.”

Viktor looked up sharply. “Harsh.”

They basically hauled Mila back into her room that night. Mostly dragging her, since she couldn’t have possibly stood on her own. They were lucky Lilia didn’t share a room with her, otherwise, they’d both be chewed out for not looking after Mila enough—then Mila would have to hear the lecture with a throbbing headache by morning. Yuuri had been happy to help, mostly, until Viktor jabbed at his old man knees again.

Surprisingly, there were no threats of more time to be spent on the treadmill and extra leg weights on the morning runs. Instead, Yuuri was laughing. And oh, it was satisfying to hear him laugh like that. So Viktor tried doing it again and again, until they reached their room.

As soon as the door closed, Viktor was pushed to the wall.

It was as if all the alcohol had gone up to his head, or he was slightly delirious—because Yuuri was kissing him, hard. Hard enough that it didn’t take much time for their teeth to collide and their noses to smash into each other. Viktor had gotten used to the gentle kisses, touches, pecks on the cheeks that he had almost forgotten how Yuuri could be. Maybe it was the alcohol melting all their inhibitions like a fucking forest fire. Yuuri broke the kiss only to nibble at Viktor’s lower lip, eliciting a moan far too pleased to be of pain.

“Want some Vodka?” Viktor asked, arms tight around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “Viktor Nikiforov,” he huffed, an accusation in his tone. “Are you telling your coach you have a secret Vokda stash mid-competition?”

“I wasn’t drinking it during competition,” Viktor sputtered. “Nor have I been drinking during practices, coach.”

Yuuri grinned slyly, kissed him ferociously, and ran his fingers through Viktor’s hair. Yuuri pulled him by the hair, angling their lips together, tongue slipping into Viktor’s mouth.

Viktor gasped at the sensation, allowing all the bundled up nerves within him to untangle—allowing Yuuri Katsuki to undo them in ways that he can. So much for his attempt at self-control.

Yuuri pulled away, Viktor chasing the kiss, but Yuuri put a finger between them. “Slow down, tiger,” he purred. “I need to shower.”

Still panting, he leaned helplessly against the wall, and nodded. He watched as Yuuri got a few of his things and proceeded to the bathroom without so much as a second glance at Viktor.

Wait, was Viktor’s dick throbbing? Jesus Christ.

He moved to find his bottle of Vodka, poured himself a glass, and drank it down immediately. He felt it go straight to his head, but now he doesn’t feel like he’s about to explode into a fucking black hole. He hovered around his bed for a moment, a single bed, and Yuuri’s was across the room.

And there, he sat and drank.

_Okay, fuck. Don’t overdo it or it’ll end up disastrous for the both of you again._

He drank another glass again.

By the time Yuuri was out of the bathroom, Viktor wasn’t’ drunk yet—well, but not just buzzed anymore. Also, was Yuuri wearing sweatpants? When the hell did wearing sweatpants make Viktor so worked up before?

Yuuri looked to him, glasses still on. “Do you want to give me some of that, or...?”

“Right.” Viktor stood up as fast as he could, almost tripping, and handed Yuuri the glass.

Yuuri downed it almost immediately, though he looked rather fine. He put the glass aside, stood there motionless for a while, until he looked to Viktor once more. “Come closer.”

Viktor swallowed. He inched closer, and closer, until he was near enough for Yuuri to wrap his arms around Viktor’s neck. Yuuri started to kiss him again, gently this time. He kissed the corners of Viktor’s mouth, his temples, then he want for his earlobes—and bit it down.

“You skated so beautifully today,” Yuuri whispered into Viktor’s ear.

“Hmm,” Viktor planted a kiss on his throat, sucking a little, enough to leave a red mark but not enough to bruise for days. “How did I do today?”

“Could have been worse.”

Viktor chuckled, moving his lips down to Yuuri’s collarbone.

Yuuri moaned.

Delighted by this, Viktor started moving his hands to the hem of Yuuri shirt, asking for permission. Yuuri nodded, and Viktor indulged himself to the feeling of Yuuri’s stomach, skin hot from the alcohol and Viktor’s touches, Yuuri’s breathing very, very responsive.

Viktor continued to kiss him, on the lips, down to his neck. His hands went to Yuuri’s waistband—

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, slightly breathless.

Though it sent sensations down to Viktor’s dick, he heard the slight warning in the tone, so he stopped. “Yes, Yuuri?”

“You’re not too drunk are you?” He asked, kissing Viktor’s throat.

“Maybe.”

Yuuri pulled away, looking at Viktor in the eye. “Be honest.”

“Okay, I might be very drunk.”

Yuuri pressed his lips on Viktor’s. “If you remember this tomorrow, if you still want this by morning, then we can.” He ran his fingers down Viktor’s face, tracing his jawline. “Do you understand?”

Although slightly disappointed, Viktor nodded. “Okay.”

Yuuri smiled. “Well, don’t stop kissing me,” he said. “I didn’t say we should stop with those too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mila is my **queen**.
> 
> Also, if the blaringly obvious "Eventual Smut" tag doesn't give it away, please note that the ratings may change sooner or later. I didn't write "Slow Burn" for a reason. ;)
> 
> Lastly, before you go, tell me what you think!


	6. Beds and Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a day late, so I'm sorry.  
> Also, my hand slipped, so have you seen the change in ratings?
> 
> *hides*

Viktor woke up with Yuuri in his arms.

Their legs were tangled under the sheets, Viktor’s arm looped around him, nose buried into the back of Yuuri’s neck. He smelled like lemons and powder, delightful and new. “Yuuri.”

“Hmmm.”

He snuggled closer, letting their shared warmth comfort him. “Yuuri, my head hurts.”

“Then go back to sleep,” Yuuri groaned sleepily.

“Yuuuuuuuuuuuuri!”

Yuuri turned around abruptly, startling him. Viktor always knew Yuuri was beautiful in the mornings, for he usually was the first thing he saw everyday, but nothing compared to seeing him in bed and having just woken up—his eyes were still hazy with sleep, hair rumpled to the side, glasses nowhere to be found.

Viktor’s heart stuttered as Yuuri reached for his face and ran a finger down his jaw. “ _Ohayo gozaimasu_.”

Right. Viktor must not have been fully awake yet because he had just failed to realize he slept with Yuuri Katsuki in his arms. Both of them were properly dressed for bedtime, nothing too intimate to begin with, but it was sort of different from when he woke up to a naked, sexed-up Yuuri beside him. It was an overwhelming feeling for him, new and rather unbelievable.

So Viktor laid there, staring straight into Yuuri’s eyes, not being able to say a single word.

He wondered how long before he was going to fuck this up eventually.

“I think I might have a light hangover,” Viktor spoke finally.

“You know, if you told me you’d forgotten what happened last night, I’m really going to get pissed.” Yuuri’s hand went to his hair, fingers slowly combing through them, eyes looking rather fond. Viktor allowed himself to lean toward the touch.

“What happened last night?”

Yuuri shot him a look.

Viktor laughed, enclosing Yuuri in his arms and rolling around the sheets with him—which Viktor instantly regretted doing. His head spun, making him grow dizzier than he had been earlier. His hand went to his head, massaging it fervently. “Ow.” He groaned. “I shouldn’t have done that. Shit.”

Yuuri laughed along, climbing on top of Viktor and took over massaging his temples. He had a nice, lazy smile on his lips. Pretty.

“I have painkillers,” Yuuri slid off of him to get his bag. “Hold on.”

He frowned. “Were you always this prepared?”

Yuuri looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “I haven’t brought any condoms, so no.”

Viktor blanched.

“To answer your innocent question, no,” Yuuri replied, giggling. “I knew you’d get drunk one way or another, so why not?”

“Mean!”

“I also found out about the Vodka way before you told me about it,” he went across the room to grab one of the hotel-provided glasses on the table. “You’re lucky your lack of self-control didn’t kick in, or you’d have more than just five miles to run when we get back.”

Viktor stared back in horror. “Hah. Why do I feel like I’m missing Phichit Chulanont?”

Yuuri went to get some water and handed it to Viktor. Along with some pills, Viktor downed it immediately, hoping it took effect as fast as it could. Man, was he hungry? Doesn’t matter, though. He fell right back unto the mattress and sighed.

He peered at Yuuri for a while, sitting there with his loose T-shirt and sweatpants. The said shirt and sweatpants may have just become Viktor’s favourite guilty pleasure, that and Yuuri in a fucking pressed suit. Viktor lifted his arms invitingly. “Come here.”

“It’s nine in the morning,” Yuuri frowned.

Viktor rolled around the sheets again and pouted, making more room on the otherwise small twin-bed. “Yes, but come here.”

He was rewarded by a sigh, but Yuuri did oblige by slipping back into the covers, his back to Viktor. He’s always held Yuuri tightly before, mostly in the many times they’ve embraced, but nothing like this. Nothing felt as overwhelmingly comfortable as the feeling of Yuuri’s heartbeat against his, their bodies flush against each other.

Yup, he was definitely going to fuck it up one way or another.

“Do you like poetry?” Yuuri asked suddenly, voice sounding a bit sleepy.

“Yevgeny Kharitonov,” Viktor opened his eyes momentarily, and snuggled closer. For some inexplicable reason, it occurred to Viktor that Yuuri might not be familiar with Russian poets. He couldn’t understand why he did, but he racked his brain for more familiar names. Someone he liked, probably. “And maybe some Sylvia Plath.”

Yuuri’s shoulders jumped a little as he snorted. “Now, that’s pretty dark.”

“Whatever,” he huffed. “What about you?”

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Ah, romantic, are we?”

“Shut up, Nikiforov.” He chuckled. “I just like things that are profound.”

“You did know Poe married an underage cousin, right?”

Yuuri shifted a little, arm resting on top of Viktor’s. “And Sylvia Plath stuck her head in the oven.”

Viktor chuckled, and before he knew it, he fell asleep to the sound of Yuuri’s gentle breathing.

-

When they got back from Russia, training in Detroit never came easy. Viktor had hoped Yuuri was going to slow down on him, mostly because he thought his performance at the Nationals was good enough—but no, Yuuri Katsuki had high expectations for him and won’t stop at anything to achieve it. They followed a tight schedule where Viktor visited Minako in the mornings, did his stretches there, gym and strength training just before lunch, and then Yuuri allowed him to practice on the ice in the afternoon.

He wasn’t sure how much Yuuri was paying the management of the rink for reservations alone, but when he thought about it, he fell too many times that Yuuri had to drag him back to the bleachers for a swift kiss. In retrospect, it must not have been too bad. At least Yuuri’s initiating contact again.

“What’s on your mind?” Yuuri held Viktor’s chin gingerly, his thumb running against his lower lip teasingly. Any more of this in the next few months and Viktor was going to turn into a fucking wilted plant.

He chuckled with a slight unevenness to his voice. “You know, we could always allow people to come in and skate while we’re here. They might want to.”

Yuuri kissed him again, humming against his lips. He trailed kisses down Viktor’s neck, then his jaw, then his temples—until Yuuri was lightly sucking on his earlobe. “Do you still want them to?”

Viktor trembled.

“Besides, I don’t want them getting hurt from you falling down too often,” Yuuri whispered. “Now, run your short program again or you don’t get to touch me for the next week.”

Phichit, thank goodness, sometimes had the urge to come visit them on the weekends. He brought movies and video games with him, sometimes take out, and it was one of the things Viktor has always anticipated so far. He was still trying to hold online meetings for his small business in Russia, making sure he was the one who adjusted to the time-difference, as well as managing his bank accounts and made sure salaries were wired over in time.

Yuuri had asked Viktor once, whether he always liked owning the cafe in the first place. To be honest, it was kind of an impulsive thing—an idea he thought about while utterly bored and didn’t know what to do with his life after he quit figure skating.

“The story for your short program,” Yuuri was leaning over the railings as he handed Viktor a water bottle. “Do you picture it out in your head when you skate?”

Viktor looked to him, feeling rather tired. “Yes, I guess? Just flashes.”

“Is it about a first heartbreak?”

There was silence then. Viktor didn’t know how this particular idea had gone into Yuuri’s head, because there was no way anyone could convey an overly-pathetic story from movement alone. There was an inexplicable wave of nervousness coursing through him, though, as if he was caught in a sudden fucked up situation he couldn’t get away from.

Viktor looked down and sighed, busying himself by wiping the sweat off of his neck. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re not even answering the question.”

“Jesus, you’re a tough one, huh?” Viktor looked up and handed his water bottle back to Yuuri. “Maybe. That’s kind of how I thought about it listening to the music, I guess. You said there ought to be a story...”

“Because it’s about obsessive, messy love. Young love.” Yuuri leaned forward, resting his elbows unto the railings, his gaze low enough to level with Viktor’s. He reached out to brush the sweaty hairs from Viktor’s eyes. “If you’re wondering why I’m making you run the routine over and over again, it’s because I couldn’t see the story unfold anymore. It’s not there. Not like in the Russian Nationals.”

Viktor frowned. “I don’t think it helped me in anyway at the Russian Nationals.”

“Yes, it did.” Yuuri straightened up and rested his hands on his hips. “Was it a boy or a girl?”

“What?”

“Your first love.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known ‘first love’.”

Yuuri gave him a strange look. “Okay, but was it a boy or a girl, the one you’re picturing in your short program?”

“A boy.”

“Okay.”

“Tanned skin and amber eyes,” Viktor went on, unable to help himself. “We fucked to Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones.”

Yuuri smiled, just a little, and he nodded. “There we go,” his voice changed, just a little, the timbre lower than it used to be. “Don’t be afraid to bare your soul on the ice, Viktor Nikiforov. It’s never a bad thing.”

Viktor scowled at him, but none of them spoke for a while. He was awaiting orders from Yuuri when Phichit cam bursting through the doors with a takeout bag in hand.

Yuuri looked to his friend’s direction. “I thought you had a class?”

“Yes, but there was a new Indian food place that opened up nearby,” Phichit grinned like the little shit he was. “You guys care for some snacks?”

Thank god.

-

In the end, Yuuri thought that in exchange for Viktor indulging in breaks in between practices (brought to him by some nice take out by Phichit), Viktor had to work on his quads in succession (He still didn’t know whether Phichit’s sudden appearance had become a blessing or a curse). Yuuri didn’t even let Viktor run any of his programs before they left, which was weird because a review or a quick run-through was always part of their schedule.

He wondered if there was an impending doom waiting for him by the end of the day.

The said foreboding feeling was thoroughly confirmed when Yuuri stepped into the apartment that night, Vicchan following behind him, some grocery bags cradled in his arms.

“I have a surprise for you!” Yuuri rushed to Viktor’s side as soon as he had set the bags aside.

Viktor, who was seated on the floor browsing Netflix, had the sudden urge to run to the table counters and hide there forever. Yuuri grinning meant a lot of bad, annoying, or torturous things.

He gulped. “And what that might be?”

Yuuri pulled something from his pocket and shoved a flyer in front of Viktor’s face.

“What’s th—what the fuck?”

Yuuri just kept smiling.

“A yoga class?”

“Not just a yoga class,” Yuuri raised his index finger in the air, looking rather pleased with himself. “A _mind-centring_ yoga class.”

He hid his face behind his palms, too frustrated to even begin to explain what the hell Yuuri wanted to get from this. “Why? Yuuri, it’s a 4 a.m. class. We could use that time, I don’t know—jogging or something.”

“Oh, no. You’re still jogging to Minako-sensei’s studio after the class, and then the day would begin.”

“Yuuri!”

“Yes, Viktor?”

“What did I do?”

Yuuri blinked at him. “Nothing.”

“So why?”

“You flubbed seven quad Salchows, two-footed nine landings, several shitty combination spins, a sorry attempt at hydro-blading, fell on four triple Axels—”

Viktor raised a hand in front of Yuuri.

“Should I go on?”

“So I _did_ something wrong?” Viktor sighed. “You could have just told me.”

“Nonsense,” Yuuri smiled. “You do that all the time, so why would this yoga class be punishment?”

Yuuri was going to kill him.

-

The morning after that, he was sure that Yuuri was plotting to kill him. And no, it wasn't the yoga class.

The yoga class wasn’t too bad. Viktor rather liked it. Forty-five minutes of no pressure on him seemed to have loosened him up a bit.

Okay, but let’s be honest, those forty-five minutes involved him having to be situated behind Yuuri all the time. In yoga pants. In a fucking advanced yoga class. You get the picture. So he guessed what made it so tolerable this time was the fact that he was graced with a VIP view of Yuuri Katsuki’s _ass_. That alone had him wondering if the mat on his feet was going to become his tomb.

Too bad, he got extremely whipped at skating practice the following afternoon.

-

“Do you like Leo Tolstoy?” Yuuri asked as they were coming home from practice, in his car this time (thank god), his right hand flicking the ashes of his cigarette out of the window. He had asked Viktor if it was okay, as if there wasn’t an unspoken rule that Viktor had agreed to it since he (hesitantly) accepted Yuuri to become his coach, but it was—nice.

Viktor snorted. “Jesus, no.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who do you like then?”

“Victor Hugo.”

“Oh, that’s actually a great choice.”

Viktor ignored how he assumed Yuuri was about to tease him for being a sap. He probably already silently was, so nothing to be done about it now. No matter, Hugo was a wonderful writer and not even Yuuri Katsuki was going to make him stutter out a denial of such. “How about you, though?”

“Hmmm,” Yuuri flicked the remains of cigarette butt out of the car. Viktor wondered if there were any specific rules about that, but maybe Yuuri could get away with it because...well, because he's Yuuri.

“I don’t mind Tolstoy. But I prefer Hawthorne to be honest.”

If someone took a whole chunk of what their day was, other than the gruelling training, it was this. There was something oddly casual about it, but he found it to be something he sought for every time. It was as if a day couldn’t end without them sharing something about each other. No matter how sappy it may sound, and as much as he didn’t want to imagine Yuuri making fun of him, Viktor didn’t want it to end.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yuuri’s hand went still on the steering wheel. “Go on.”

“Why don’t you use your car often?”

He was rewarded with a resounding laugh, as if Yuuri didn’t expect the question at all. “Ah, you’re still wondering about that? I prefer walking so I don’t use it as much.” He shrugged. “Vicchan needed the excercise, too. Why?”

“It would be nice to ride back home from practice some days,” Viktor whined.

“Aw,” Yuuri cooed. “If this off-hand comment was meant to make me subconciously make decisions in your favor, don’t get your hopes up. Walking is actually good for you.”

Viktor pouted. "But mom, I don't need it as much as you!"

"You can tell me that when you've won gold, Viktor."

Their conversation went on for a while, mostly about mundane things—like what kind of Japanese or Russian food they liked, if they liked video games, what kind of music did they like when they were younger. Soon, the conversation waned down until Viktor drifted off, tired from practice and full from the nice dinner they had just a few minutes earlier. But soon, he found Yuuri nudging his shoulder, voice soft and coaxing.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered. “Hey, we’re here.”

He opened his eyes to see Yuuri, and he was very, very close to him.

They were at the parking lot of the complex, dim and silent. So if there was something to be blamed for Viktor’s sudden boldness, that might be it.

He took Yuuri’s lips in his, the touch soft as a whisper, pacing slow and gentle. Yuuri had jumped at first, a little overwhelmed, but he eventually relaxed his shoulders and allowed Viktor to take control. They did just that for a while, noses touching slightly, but when Yuuri began to open his mouth and Viktor had flicked his tongue in—the supposed chaste kissed had heated up very quickly.

Soon, their teeth were clacking, Yuuri was biting hard, and Viktor was huffing. Yuuri pulled back only to free Viktor of his seatbelt and gracefully swung himself over to him, straddling Viktor between his powerful thighs. Viktor adjusted the passenger seat and reclined it, making it easy for Yuuri for nip at his neck, lower and lower, until he sucked hard at the crook of Viktor’s neck.

“Yuuri,” Viktor gasped, suddenly overwhelmed, feeling all the blood in his body rush downwards really, really fast. He suddenly felt extremely embarrassed. “I—I need to shower first.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Yuuri started working with his tongue, trailing a wet line along Viktor’s collarbone, hands playing with the hem of Viktor’s shirt, effectively shutting him up. It might have shut Viktor’s brain down, too—for he was reacting to the Yuuri’s ministrations by returning the kisses and the bites. Yuuri hummed pleasantly. “You taste so good.”

Viktor was loosing his mind faster than his dick was throbbing right about now. He ran his hands against Yuuri’s sides, up to his chest, and then through Yuuri’s hair, slightly matte with sweat but soft no matter. He removed his glasses and threw it into the dashboard with a clatter, while Yuuri’s hands were running up and down his clothed chest.

Yuuri reached down between them, and with a sudden jolt and a moan, Viktor relished in the feeling of Yuuri palming him through his sweatpants. He found himself thrusting into Yuuri’s hand, looking for more pressure, begging, lips biting and sucking at Yuuri’s collarbone. Viktor removed one hand from Yuuri’s hair only to slide it down his ass, kneading at it hard, almost pulling Yuuri toward him.

“Look at this,” Yuuri used his fingernail to lightly scratch the length of Viktor’s trapped dick. “Must be really uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Viktor whimpered against Yuuri’s shoulders, pleading. He was trembling now, aching for more touches, aching for Yuuri to do more to him, to destroy him—hell, Yuuri could ask whatever the fuck he wanted and Viktor would do it as fast as humanly possible.

He threw his head back, arching against Yuuri’s palm.

Yuuri’s hands found his waistband, fingers hooked at the garter, but he didn’t do anything.

Viktor lifted his head, frowning. “What?”

“Is it okay?”

Viktor took in a deep breath, and wondered—just wondered how they’ve done all the things they did up to that moment and Yuuri still expected he’d say no. Regardless, Viktor nodded, and pulled Yuuri against him. Flushed against each other’s heat, Yuuri pulled at Viktor’s trousers just enough to free his cock from his briefs. Viktor gasped as soon as he felt Yuuri’s fingers close against his length, thumb spreading the precome beading at the slit.

Viktor pulled at Yuuri’s hair. “Fuck, Yuuri. Shit.”

“You’re so pretty, Viktor.” Yuuri began stroking him, gently, made easier by the slippery precome leaking out of him. Jesus Christ what great deed has Viktor done in his past life? “Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

He reached down to Yuuri’s trousers, fumbled with the belt with his shaking hands, but it took too long for him to work with it. Yuuri noticed this, and with his free hand, he undid his belt expertly, leaving the rest to Viktor.

Viktor managed to pop the button on Yuuri’s trousers open, worked with his zipper, and took Yuuri in his hand. Yuuri stuttered a little, surprised by the sensation, which encouraged him to deepen their kiss into a bruising one—hot and salivating, teeth and tongue and gasping breaths. Viktor found that Yuuri had been leaking too, his boxers must have been a mess all this time. He began to stroke, pumping gently, until Yuuri slapped his hand away and took both of their lengths together. Yuuri leaned back momentarily to spit on their lengths, tossing his hair back, and smiled down at Viktor.

The saliva did wonderful things. It allowed Yuuri’s hand to slide up and down better than it did before, the friction extremely delicious and almost a bit too much. Viktor’s hands went to Yuuri’s hips, to hold himself together more than anything. In response, Yuuri bit his lip and began to thrust his hips, adding to the friction.

“Sweet Jesus,” Viktor huffed, his head thrown back.

The car windows were glazed with a thin layer of steam, the inside of the car feeling hot despite the air-conditioning, Viktor’s shirt sticking to him from the sweat.

Yuuri quickened his pace, thrusting his hips faster, his breath growing uneven. Yuuri Katsuki in the mornings was beautiful, almost as beautiful as Yuuri Katsuki straddling Viktor on the passenger seat, head thrown back and eyes shutting in obscene pleasure. “Vi—fuck—” Yuuri huffed, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Viktor...”

Yuuri Katsuki straddling Viktor and  _moaning_ his name.

Viktor dug his nails into Yuuri’s hipbones, enough to bruise, enough to mark him. Yuuri groaned even louder, his fist pumping even faster. He leaned unto Viktor again, kissing him, nipping at his earlobe. “Viktor, I’m—I—”

“Shhh,” Viktor whispered, biting at Yuuri’s collarbone. “Come for me.”

Yuuri was pushed to the edge, hips stuttering, coming all over their shirts with a shout. Viktor thrust his hips, causing Yuuri to bounce in his lap, until he followed Yuuri eventually, spurting spunk on their lengths.

They held each other for what felt like a long time, their breathing erratic and unsteady, the steam on the car windows surrounding them.

“Wow,” Viktor said finally, his breath still evening out. “We should definitely take your car for a ride more often.”

Yuuri slapped him gently on the arm, laid his forehead on Viktor’s, and chuckled.

Perhaps, going at it in the car had been a mistake. Okay, it was super fucking amazing and he wasn’t going to take any of it back, but they still should’ve shed their shirts before doing it. As they opened the door to Yuuri’s apartment, expecting to shower all the sweat off of them, they were gifted by the presence of Phichit on the couch. He was bent over some papers, his laptop on one side, and the remote on the other.

Phichit looked up, about to say something, and stopped.

Viktor stood there with Yuuri in horror, not knowing what the do, shirts covered in spunk and hairs obviously dishevelled. To add to the current awkward predicament they were in, all three of them became still and silent, neither of them knowing what to do or say.

Finally, breaking the silence, was Phichit. “You know,” he laid back against the couch, sniggering. “I wouldn’t be offended if you asked me to return the spare key, Yuuri. Then we’d be able to avoid situations like this.”

For the second time in his life, Viktor wanted to turn into water vapour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go, allow me to slip in some shameless self promotion:  
> Consider an urban-fantasy Victuuri AU of mine called Silver Winters. :)  
> Link to the story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10337136/chapters/22849340).  
> Okay, done.
> 
> Comments are very welcome!


	7. David and Berlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, would you look at the number of chapters! Jesus, this fic is writing itself. Halp.
> 
> Georgi is not the same age as Viktor by the way. That's why Vitya was closer to Mila.
> 
> Yuuri and Phichit are older in this fic, too (twenty-seven). So in general, it's only the three of them who's ages were adjusted, in case you're wondering.

Yuuri practically threw himself into the bathroom with a quick, “I need to get dressed.”

Viktor, however, was an idiot. So he stood there, covered in come, still ridiculously overwhelmed by the current unfortunate situation his was in. Phichit was still smiling at him, thank goodness, and he didn’t look like he minded at all. It probably happened very often if Phichit still had the spare key despite both he and Yuuri were old enough to stop having sleepovers. It made sense, sort of.

“I have news,” Phichit said, rather cheery. Breaking the awkward silence enveloping the room.

Viktor looked to him, still confused as ever. He should probably start walking toward his room by now, fix his hair, or straighten his stained clothes...but Phichit started a conversation and wouldn’t that be rude if he—

“Viktor,” Phichit snapped his fingers. “I said I have news.”

“Um, okay?” Viktor nodded, as if urging him to go on.

“But I need both of you to hear it, so...” Phichit waved him away, bending back over toward his papers on the coffee table. “Go shower while you’re at it or something.”

Finally snapping out of his trance, Viktor moved away and went for his room, self-confidence finally breaking down. He knew his embarrassment got the best of him sometimes, but Jesus, what was that?

The said ‘news’ Phichit was so eager to tell them was that the Grand Prix assignments were released. Viktor had lazily asked whether he had two assignments or not, which didn’t bode well with Yuuri, so he was punished by being ordered to run up and down the apartment stairs twice. He came back a few minutes later, sweaty in his pyjamas, and was welcomed back by Yuuri with a pat on the head.

“Now, that’s a good boy,” Yuuri grinned.

Viktor scowled.

“I wouldn’t mind taking the drafts home, you know.” Phichit said to Yuuri, whom looked over upon hearing his name. “You’ll be practicing early again tomorrow.”

Yuuri snatched the bundle of papers from Phichit. “No, no I can do it. Just a read-through and some formatting corrections, right? Besides, it’s not as tiring when I’m not the one falling down the ice rink.”

Phichit smiled wickedly. “Ah, I didn’t know you enjoyed _ordering_ Viktor around so much.”

“Well, he seems to like it, so why not?”

“Am I supposed to be hearing this conversation?” Viktor’s scowl deepened, sweat dripping down between his eyebrows. They always did this, Yuuri and Phichit. They usually teased him by talking about him like he wasn’t standing there in the same room. Nothing that’s too offensive, but it’s usually meant to make Viktor want to run and hide from embarrassment.

“Why, yes,” Yuuri smiled. “Unless you feel personally attacked, that is.”

“You rather liked attacking me, though.”

Yuuri beamed in delight. “ _Oh, ho_.”

“Okay!” Phichit whooped and snatched his backpack from the sofa. “I’d really love to stay and watch through this unbelievable sexual tension, but I have a few things to do.” He went for the door and turned back, handing Yuuri something.

Yuuri reached for it, peered at the small item in his hand, and blinked in confusion. “You don’t have—”

“Yes, yes, you don’t mind me walking in on you two from time to time,” Phichit snorted. “But think about how I constantly feel about this.” He opened the door and winked. “Well, off I go!”

And then Phichit was gone.

Viktor stared at the door with his mouth open, not knowing exactly how he should feel about Yuuri’s best friend surrendering a house key—like Viktor was taken into consideration for such a decision. Like he belonged there. Like Phichit knew Viktor was going to be there for a very long time and he was giving them the privacy they needed. What were they again? Him and Yuuri? Did he deserve such?

“Skate Canada and the NHK Trophy, huh?” Yuuri stepped in front of Viktor, almost appearing out of nowhere. His arms went around Viktor’s neck, and in response, Viktor slid his around Yuuri’s waist. Familiar. Something they’ve done very often. “That gives us at least three weeks of practice in between competitions.”

“Is that a good thing, or?”

Viktor wasn’t going to lie, he loved the way Yuuri’s mood shifted whenever they were alone. He might have been the same with a few high-profile people he’s dated before, but Viktor wasn’t entirely complaining.

“If you screw up Skate Canada, then yes,” Yuuri smiled. “But you won’t.”

“Ah, confident, are we?”

“Sure,” Yuuri snuggled close, nose buried into Viktor’s neck. “You know, you’re welcome to sleep in my bed.”

Viktor hummed.

“It’s a bigger bed.”

Viktor’s hands slipped inside Yuuri’s shirt. “I knew that.”

“I also have a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

“Why do I feel like you’re just showing off?”

Yuuri chuckled, jabbing at Viktor’s shoulder blades lightly. He pulled away, and with a light jerk of his head toward his room, he said, “Want to shower again? You’re—sweaty.”

“You didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago.”

“Yes, but it was sexy, this—” Yuuri picked at his pyjamas. “—is not sexy.”

Viktor snorted, leaned down, and kissed him.

-

Alberta was, well, really cold in late Autumn. At least, Viktor was Russian, so it didn’t bother him as much. Yuuri, however, despite hailing from a cold city, clutched at himself as they arrived at the hotel. He practically exhaled in delight as soon as they were in their hotel room, with a queen-sized bed this time, and Viktor wished fervently that Yuuri’s friends wouldn’t decide to come over and get the biggest surprise of their lives.

Well, maybe not the biggest surprise of their lives, but Viktor and Yuuri’s interactions in public were kept to a minimum. So if somebody came in and saw the large bed, it would definitely raise some curiosity to whomever it might be—except maybe Christophe Giacometti, that is. Hesitantly, he sat at the edge of the bed, and tried to look busy by shifting all attention to his phone. It wasn’t like they haven’t done it before, but it’s just—

“The weather’s not too bad for a night out.” Yuuri observed.

Viktor gurgled out what sounded like a “sure”—or something along those lines.

“Why don’t we relax for today, huh?” Yuuri straightened up as soon as he set their bags aside. “How many suits did you pack?”

Viktor looked up from his phone. “One, just in case. Why?”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yuuri proceeded to open up his suitcase, his back still turned to Viktor. “We’re going out to dinner tonight.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Wear your suit.”

“Okay.”

If Viktor ever took Yuuri for someone who liked to keep things non-extravagant, he was wrong. At about six, Yuuri helped him into his suit, a simple dark grey three-piece he once wore to Mila’s eighteenth birthday. He did what he could with his hair, the same thing Yuuri usually styled it (with the rest of the strands pulled back nicely and then leaving some to fall in front of his face).

Yuuri, however, looked wonderful. He looked sharp and handsome even in a basic navy blue suit and tie, crisp white shirt, and brown loafers. His hair was pushed back, no contacts this time, his glasses framing his face. Lovely.

They talked very little as they rode a cab. As soon as they arrived, Viktor’s mouth practically dropped when he saw that it _was_ an extremely fancy restaurant—something that needed to be called in for reservations a few weeks prior. It had slightly dim lights, chandeliers made of gems worth a fortune that hang on the ceiling, and on the tables a few lit candles.

“Reservation for Yuuri Katsuki,” said the hostess, as she led them to a small, rather intimate table for two amongst the more discreet areas of the establishment. Yuuri smiled at her and said his thanks, making his way to pull the chair for Viktor.

Viktor raised his eyebrows.

“Just do it, Nikiforov.”

Fearing for his life, he obeyed immediately. Yuuri went to sit in front of him soon after, smiling at Viktor from across the table. His glasses reflected the flames of the candles slightly, although it didn’t take away from his eyes, brown and golden under the dim light.

“This is one of my favourites,” Yuuri said, eyes wandering around the beautiful chandeliers hanging above them. “I called in for a reservation the moment I knew you were going to compete in Canada.”

“That—wow.” Ah, Very eloquent. Viktor cleared his throat, hoping his heart went back down to his chest. What was he supposed to say to that? “I thought you made the reservation early today. I mean, you could make that happen, I guess.”

The fuck.

Yuuri gave him a weird look. “Reservations are usually there to make sure the kitchen staff doesn’t panic,” he said. “So I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

“So, are you telling me you’ve never actually forced a quick reservation before?”

“Nope.”

Wow. “It’s nice to know that.”

_Ah, yes. Keep going, Vitya. You’re boring him to death._

Yuuri looked down a little, and—wait is that a blush? Viktor’s seen Yuuri occasionally blush before, mostly thanks to several jabs to his ego by Phichit, so why did it feel slightly different? He tried to shake the thoughts away.

He felt Yuuri reach for his hand across the table, and Viktor allowed him to tangle their fingers together. Familiar. Something they’ve done a thousand times before. “Tell me more about you, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor’s mouth went dry. “I—what?”

He waited for the joke, something like ‘the extent of your vocabulary is horrifying, Viktor’, but there was none of that. Instead, Yuuri looked rather calm—a bit nervous to be honest—and Viktor hoped that the nerves were coming from the same ones that made his own heart flip.

“I just want to know,” Yuuri said, softly.

“You know a lot.”

“Yes, but I don’t know everything yet,” Yuuri said, his voice dropping a little. “And I very much like to know everything.”

Viktor stared back at him, thoroughly amazed. “W—what do you want to know?”

“Anything,” Yuuri shrugged, rubbing Viktor’s knuckles. “We could start with your favourite city. Country. Whatever you feel comfortable talking about.”

He didn’t realize how such a mundane question had his chest thumping like they would break out of his body. It wasn’t much to answer, was it? Anyone could ask him and he could answer immediately. But then, Viktor also realized, that if it had been a different person, he would most likely end up lying.

So Viktor thought about it for a long moment, something, some place he actually liked...

“Berlin,” he said, finally.

“I loved Berlin, too.” Yuuri played with Viktor’s hands on the table, even as their first course was being served. “When did you visit it?”

“I was seventeen,” he said, concentrating on the incredible feeling of Yuuri’s finger’s entwined in his. “I got drunk one day and then I decided to fly all the way to Germany. I stayed there for about a week since I knew Yakov was going to kill me as soon as I returned.”

Yuuri laughed. “Hasetsu.”

“That’s in Japan?” Of course it is, you idiot.

“I lived in Hasetsu before I moved to America,” Yuuri smiled. “I had a nice coach, but the skating coalition in Japan thought it would be better for me to switch coaches. For more growth. Something like elevating the level of difficulty.”

“What’s it like?” Viktor found himself wanting to know more, but why?

“It’s warmer,” Yuuri’s eyes wandered around for a moment. Viktor knew that Yuuri wasn’t in Alberta anymore, he was in Japan, practicing at a local rink where he first learned to do his jumps. “There’s a nice beach that’s great for early morning walks, usually there’ll be seagulls too. Vicchan would have loved it.”

Viktor knew what Hasetsu looked liked from the many magazine features of Yuuri Katsuki, but he’s never been there. He instinctively leaned forward and—

“Take me there.”

Silence.

_Oh shit. Did you just say that, Vitya?_

“Y-you know, that just came out really weird,” Viktor sputtered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Okay,” Yuuri said after a moment.

Viktor stayed silent, not knowing where to look.

“Viktor,” Yuuri let go of his hand to take his chin, making sure Viktor was looking at him in the eye. “I said, okay. We’ll fly early before the NHK trophy and have you practice at Yuuko-san’s rink.”

“Yuuko-san?”

Yuuri smiled. “The childhood friend of mine,” he said. “And besides, she and her husband basically lets me to do as I please, so we could practice as late as we can.”

And with that, Viktor allowed himself to smile, tension suddenly leaving him. And oh, what was this emotion that’s starting to replace it? Was it excitement, perhaps? He held Yuuri’s hand in his, turned it so he could kiss Yuuri’s wrist gently. “Okay. I would love that, thank you.”

They spent the evening eating delicious (and rather expensive) meals, some dessert, and a thirty-year-old bottle of wine. Viktor went to pull out his wallet, but Yuuri had asked him not to. Instead, Yuuri held out his own credit card so Viktor didn’t see the actual price he was paying for.

Viktor really wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to spend too much, especially for a dinner like this, but he was afraid it might ruin the mood. They were having the most fun after all. Besides, Yuuri’s very careful of his money anyway, so that evening might be one of his occasional splurges.

An occasional splurge he decided to share with Viktor.

“Do you like the Beatles?” Viktor asked.

“Yes, I do! But I haven’t bought too many albums to be honest,” Yuuri peered at him through his wine glass, cheeks slightly flushed. Viktor wondered if the redness on his cheeks were from the alcohol alone, because he sure hoped not. “My dad wasn’t exactly exposed to foreign music, if you know what I mean.”

“My dad too.” Viktor smiled. “What do you like?”

“Bon Jovi and Scorpions,” Yuuri shrugged. “Papa Roach, too.”

Viktor nodded, impressed. “Good choice, Katsuki. I am proud.”

“Hah,” Yuuri snorted. “I bet you liked the Monkees too.”

“I do!” Viktor grinned.

“Viktor, they started out as a Beatles parody.”

“Yes, but they make good music,” Viktor put a finger on his lips, thinking. “How was that again? _Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen..._ ”

By the end of dinner, both of them were laughing. Rather boisterously for such a fancy restaurant, but that didn’t matter. Viktor loved making Yuuri laugh as much as he loved laughing a long with him.

They passed by Guang-Hong Ji at the hotel lobby soon after they arrived, a young skater of seventeen, along with a friend of his whom Viktor recognized to be Leo De La Inglesia. They said their hellos and asked to take photos with Yuuri, who was more or less happy to comply. Viktor offered to take the shot for them, but Yuuri had frowned at him, and insisted that he took a selfie instead.

By the end of it, they were back in their room, alone again for the first time, and as Yuuri was just beginning to undo his tie, Viktor slid behind him. His arms circled Yuuri’s slim waist, pulled him closer, and Viktor kissed his shoulder.

Usually, it would be Yuuri who initiated any form of contact, of intimate touches, but now was different, wasn’t it? Yuuri didn’t seem opposed to it—he rather welcomed it.

“I want you to listen to something.”

Yuuri shivered.

Viktor took out his phone, browsed his music, and selected a song.

There was a gentle hum of guitar at first, and then, the mellow lyrics followed.

_Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,_

_They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe._

Yuuri leaned into him, exhaling. His arms went to cover Viktor’s, moving his body from left to right, like a slow dance. “The Beatles, huh?”

_Nothing’s gonna change my world._

“Uh huh,” Viktor hummed in his ear. “Across the Universe.”

_Jai guru deva om_

Yuuri turned around in his arms, hands coming to rest on Viktor’s shoulder, forehead against his. “You are an endless chain of surprises, Viktor Nikiforov.”

_Nothing’s gonna change my world._

Viktor laughed. “So are you.”

-

So Viktor met Chris.

Not the best way to start the competition day, but what the hell. Christophe went to him, grinning, and reached for his chin. Viktor had the sudden urge to flinch from embarrassment, but he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself in front of everybody. Yuuri was too busy with other people who knew him, and Viktor didn’t want to meddle with inside jokes he didn’t understand.

Chris gave Viktor a once-over, and whistled. “So this is the man that sent Yuuri packing his bags to Russia,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t say he had the wrong idea.”

“Um—”

“Good to see you, Chris!” Yuuri popped up from behind Viktor, almost instantaneously, arm going around Viktor’s shoulders. “How’s it?”

Chris’ eyes looked to the arm that had wrapped itself across Viktor for a moment, and then he smiled faintly. “I’m kind of bored without you in competition to be honest,” he put his hands on his waist, gesturing his hand toward Viktor’s direction. “I see you’ve been _busy_.”

“Definitely,” Yuuri smiled back. “Good luck?”

Chris returned the good riddance and was off to go talk to his coach. Viktor relaxed against Yuuri, almost slumping against him.

Yuuri poked him at the side.

Viktor jumped. “Yuuri!”

“Oh, that’s the spot.” Yuuri laughed. “Forgive Chris, you’ll get used to it. He really doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Doesn’t make it any less intimidating.”

“Really? Oh, is that nerves?”

Viktor snorted. “So is there a smoking area this time?”

“Absolutely,” Yuuri grinned. “This is why I love this place.”

“Viktor!” Georgi was at the far end of the hallway toward Viktor, waving at him. “ _Davai_!”

And that was that. To be frank, even though he and Georgi were rink mates for a very long time, they weren’t exactly very close. Georgi was the romantic guy who dedicated himself to a lot of romantic bullshit Viktor didn’t want to hear, and Georgi thoroughly judged Viktor for his lack of “feelings”. You get the picture.

Yakov greeted him as well, shooting Yuuri a quick look, before proceeding to follow Georgi out into the rink.

Yuuri seemed to have gone a bit restless beside him, often looking for something to fiddle with to keep his hands busy.

“Are you sure you’re okay? He asked Yuuri, who was fumbling with his necktie. It looked fine.

Yuuri dropped his hands to the side. “Yeah.”

-

As it turned out, Yuuri was not okay.

The smoking area did not help with Yuuri’s nerves at all. He was slightly trembling all over, hands cold where they touched Viktor—and he was talking too much. Yuuri might be a likable celebrity, but Viktor knew he didn’t usually blabber this much in front of him, except when drunk (but that’s another story).

“You’re going in third, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Yuuri was basically fawning over Viktor; checking to see if his perfectly-tailored costume fit, if his snug gloves are on, and if there was a single fucking hair sticking out of his nose. Yuuri took Viktor’s face in his hands, checking for something maybe, but Viktor didn’t know what it was. “As long as we manage to get you to nab the same presentation score you had at the Russian nationals, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Anyway, where’s the comb? I need to comb your hair—”

Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s wrists, but gently, and pulled Yuuri toward him. “I’m alright,” Viktor assured him. “I’ll do my best.” _Not good enough._ “And when I skate out there, I’m skating for you.”

Yuuri flushed. His breath smelled of tobacco, but it was nice. It was familiar. He leaned forward to put his forehead against Viktor’s, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Ah, Viktor the sweet talker.”

“Yes,” Viktor laughed. “Yes, I am.”

“That seemed to have worked very often, doesn’t it?”

“Aw, my Yuuri is jealous,” Viktor pouted. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Blue.” Yuuri whispered. “Yours?”

“Red. Then gold.”

With his mind clear, Viktor stood, straightened his jacket, and held out his arm.

Yuuri took it without hesitation and led Viktor out of the dressing room. At the waiting area, Viktor could hear the crowd cheering for Leo, almost done with his routine now. Yuuri was still silent beside him, and even as they stepped into the arena, he didn’t let go of Viktor’s arm.

Viktor looked to the ice, and there it was—Leo’s last pose.

Leo cheered in relief, ran to the kiss and cry, and then waited for his scores.

It all went so incredibly fast, that before he knew it, Viktor was already being helped out of his jacket by Yuuri. He still wasn’t sure if Yuuri was doing fine, but his sudden silence meant that he was trying his hardest not to ruin Viktor’s concentration.

Well, that wouldn’t be necessary. Viktor already knew what he was going to do.

Yuuri embraced him before he stepped into the ice, and smiled, “ _Gambatte_ , Viktor.”

Viktor smiled and skated away towards the centre of the ice, waving at him with a smile. Beneath his gloves, Viktor could feel his hands becoming clammy. When was he this nervous again? He’s never been before. Was it because Yuuri had been added to the equation as well? Had Yuuri, no matter how strange it sounded, changed something after all?

_I’m skating for you._

Whatever he needed to do to get the nerves out of Yuuri’s system, he would. Wait, what was the highest score so far? 93.8? Okay. If Yuuri wanted him to score a hundred points, Viktor was going to score a fucking hundred points. No matter how pathetic that sounded like. No matter what a sap he is.

The music starts.

Viktor begins.

He thinks, he pictures it out.

What was his story again?

_Candy, she’s sweet like candy in my veins._

Viktor Nikiforov was sixteen and naked, on a bed with a boy. The boy’s room was covered with posters of Pink Floyd, Kiss, The Velvet Underground, and David Bowie. Viktor loved those posters, loved the CDs littering the floor even more.

_Baby, I’m dying for another taste._

Viktor remembers the boy’s name. David.

David was beautiful. Amber eyes, beautiful face, always high on weed and prescription drugs. To be honest, Viktor wasn’t so sure why he loved him either—but that hadn’t mattered, did it? Nothing compared to young, messy, and obsessive love like a sixteen-year-old boy with rushing hormones.

He landed the combination jump, perfectly.

The crowd cheered.

Not yet, he wasn’t even halfway through.

_Baby you’re like lightning in a bottle_

_I can’t let you go now that I got it._

Viktor was seventeen. Drunk and drugged up in a bar with a few people he’s met that afternoon.

Why was he there again?

Oh. David had beaten him to a pulp when Viktor caught him in bed with an older man. Viktor had sported a bruise on his face, a thing he thought would scare a potential quick fuck, but it surprisingly worked like a charm. Girls were fawning over him, loved the way the bruise looked on him, and they didn’t complain when he asked them to visit the bathroom with him.

_Drowning, you make my heart beat like the rain._

_Surround me, hold me deep beneath your weight._

The next day, Viktor got drunk and found himself lying on a park bench in Berlin. He did love Berlin, though. He felt as if he had escaped his troubles for a while. He had chosen to stay at a hotel with the money he inherited from his parents, hopped around the bars and made friends out of people who didn’t understand what the fuck he was saying, and he was so happy for a few days.

Quadruple Salchow. Flawless.

Yuuri was cheering from somewhere near the rink.

_I feel your energy rushing through me._

Right, Yuuri.

Viktor wondered why the thought crossed his mind.

Why, why, why.

A quadruple toe-loop, landed cleanly.

_I can’t let you go now that I got it._

Viktor was sweating through his blue costume now. He could feel his lungs starting to strain, but it wasn’t going to help if he suddenly crashed, was it? So he pushed further, further—Viktor’s coach was known for his beautiful step sequences, so he should think about that. What a shame would that be, if he couldn’t keep up? If Yuuri thinks it’s shit, everyone else will.

So Viktor thought of that, thought all of that until the last pose.

Until the music faded.

Until the crowd cheered.

Viktor’s eyes were darting to the spot where Yuuri was, but he was no longer there, he was already at the kiss and cry. Yuuri’s arms were open wide, warm and welcoming, already waiting. Viktor smiled and skated toward him, embraced Yuuri like there were no cameras around them, and sighed of relief.

He never noticed the tear running down his face.

“You did wonderful,” Yuuri whispered in his ear, wiping the tear away. “So wonderful, Viktor.”

On that day, Viktor scored another personal best.

A perfect performance.

A score of 106.1 points.

Holy mother of god.

-

They had dinner with Sara Crispino this time. Yuuri had specifically chosen to go grab dinner with Sara since he knew Viktor was at least acquainted with her. Viktor had told him that it was fine if they went with the pair skaters Yuuri knew, that he would come and talk to them regardless, but Yuuri had shut him up and threw his coat at him.

“You were amazing out there, Viktor! Mila’s been texting me the whole day,” Sara smiled. Viktor wondered if Sara knew Mila was dying on the inside—he guessed not. “She said I better take you out to dinner while she’s not here.”

“Ah, but she’d tackle me to the ground, so I wouldn’t want that,” Viktor smiled, happily. Viktor’s current standing was the lead that day. Not even Christophe surpassed him. Or Georgi. He felt rather overwhelmed by it all, not knowing how to feel, since he’s never gotten to that point ever since he was very young. Mila, Yakov, and all his other former rink mates were sending him their greetings—even Yura.

Yura didn’t specifically say “congratulations” or something like that, it was more of a jumble of a challenge, a full-blown critique of his program, and a few curse words, but still...

“But thank you, you too. Your routine was wonderful.” Viktor added. “Mila said I should definitely watch your routine for her as well, or she’ll have my head.”

“I see that Mila still takes care of you,” Sara took a sip from her iced tea, set it aside, and began forking through her salad. Viktor thanked the lord in heavens that her twin brother wasn’t actually there, otherwise this would’ve been a different night altogether. “Yeah, but it’s always thanks to a great coach, I guess.” She looked to Yuuri. “Isn’t that right, Yuuri?”

“Definitely,” Yuuri grinned. He was drinking some kind of smoothie Viktor wasn’t allowed to drink. Viktor hated that smoothie (with a passion) at the moment. “But Viktor’s doing really, really well. I guess you could say that’s just him listening to his emotions for once.”

“What are you talking about?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes at him.

“Mila’s told me about it,” she giggled a little, and then leaned over the table to catch Viktor’s eyes. “But I never knew you guys were this sweet. Did you get the matrimonial room on the upper floors?”

“I—I mean, we—” Viktor stammered. He looked to Yuuri in hopes of getting help; something, an excuse, whatever...

But Yuuri was only looking down at his plate, blushing. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re all the way up the twentieth-something floor!” Sara shrugged. Then, as if a thought crossed her mind suddenly, she looked to Viktor. “By the way, don’t go telling Mila off for spilling anything. You guys are practically everywhere on the skating forums.”

Viktor was silent for a moment, dumbfounded, and then, “Forum what?”

“Ice skating forums,” Sara mumbled on, as if she was teaching Viktor the basics of how to write the alphabet, her hand waving around. “It has threads and stuff for news, but mostly gossip.”

Yuuri laughed, sipping at his smoothie again, quite relieved this time. “Never gets old.”

“So you actually enjoy being linked to other skaters.”

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Yuuri brushed Viktor’s face teasingly, eliciting a laugh out of Sara. “No, but you know how there’s still on going debates on sports and gender, all that? Well, some of them thought I was a woman. I mean, they think I was transgender because I was flexible.”

Viktor stared at him, long and hard, and then he laughed. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sara snorted. “And if that were true, that would mean Yuuri would be able to execute a few things male skaters can’t, so it would’ve been unfair.”

“Yes, but Viktor can obviously pull off a better Biellmann than I ever could.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sara’s attention went back to him, looking rather impressed. Viktor did nothing but lower his head to hide a blush. “You’re pretty flexible for twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” Viktor murmured.

“So yes, Viktor,” Yuuri smiled at him. The terrifying kind. Viktor wondered when the terrifying, shit-eating smiles were ever going to cease existing. “I haven’t been paired up with anyone.”

Silence.

“Sooooooo,” Sara chimed in. She was leaning forward toward the both of them again, eyes turning to slits. “You share the bed, then?”

“Sara!” Viktor wailed.

Yuuri, however, was unperturbed. “If I bring out some juicy information, will you buy me drinks on the last day?”

Sara smacked the table, almost inappropriately excited. “Deal!”

“Okay,” Yuuri threw his head back, rather dramatically, almost uncharacteristic of him. “Then yes, we sleep in the same bed.”

And right then, Viktor’s groaning was drowned out by Sara’s excited giggling. What a night he was having.

-

On the day of the Free Skate, Viktor woke up to a terrible hangover.

Oh shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'll include the FS, but there was so much nuance I had to cover before actually delving into it.
> 
>  ~~I didn't have any self-control~~ I added some scenes for a bit and it turned into a gargantuan chapter that basically drowned out small little details I wanted you to notice.
> 
> Tell me what you think, yes?


	8. Flips and Advils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is a sap and we know it's true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even gonna say anything anymore just--  
> HAVE AT IT!

Viktor looked around the hotel room to find Yuuri already sitting up, holding his head like it would break if he didn’t. He blinked a couple of times, scowled, then reached for his glasses on the nightstand. He went back to sitting there holding his for a while, blinking hard as if trying to keep his eyes in focus.

“Hey, oh shit—” Viktor tried to get up, but laid back down almost immediately.

Yuuri stared at Viktor beside him, who was still dressed in last night’s outfit save for his coat, and then there was a sudden flash of realization in his eyes.

“Oh, _fuck_.” He went to look for his phone to check the time, but if Yuuri worried Viktor had missed the Free Skate that day, it seemed to have dissipated as soon as he saw what time it was. “Go shower, hurry. You still have morning practice. I’ll—I’ll go run to the nearby drugstore for some painkillers.”

Seeing Yuuri’s apparent distress, Viktor did nothing but comply, fought the throbbing headache and dragged himself for a quick shower.

Viktor hadn’t blacked out last night (something new) and he definitely remembered Yuuri allowing him a few drinks (definitely something new). In retrospect, Yuuri did look a little too flustered last night, even offering to buy him drinks as Viktor was a few rounds in—so the only explanation must be that Yuuri had gotten drunk enough to lose his inhibitions.

Jesus.

Viktor scrubbed at his hair as much as he could, fast and painful, as if it would make the dizziness disappear. It wasn’t a bad hangover, not enough to send him bedridden for the rest of the day, but he wasn’t about to deliver a perfect performance when his idiot brain wasn’t in the right place.

As soon as Viktor was out of the shower, Yuuri was already packing his skating gear and his costume, halfway dressed in his suit, only stopping from his hurried packing to hand Viktor a glass of water and some painkillers.

Viktor took the Advil gratefully. “What about you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yuuri pulled the towel wrapped around Viktor’s waist, making Viktor yelp, but Yuuri ignored it and began towelling him off. His tie was still hanging over his neck, his white shirt untucked. “I’ll deal with this later. For now, make sure the dizziness goes away. Would some Mountain Dew help you? Food, maybe?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor frowned, reached for his track pants, but found that they were already being shoved into his hands. “Maybe a few more painkillers later, but I’m alright. Are _you_ alright?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered, slipping a t-shirt over Viktor’s head. Viktor did nothing in protest and allowed Yuuri to dress him. Next came his team jacket, Yuuri helpfully stepping around him so Viktor could put it on. “If you feel in any way uncomfortable, tell me right away, alright? Oh, god. How many hours did you get to sleep? You can’t possibly perform without sleep—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor caught Yuuri’s wrists, gently rubbing at them with his thumbs. “I’m okay.”

Yuuri didn’t look convinced, not even the slightest, but he exhaled and nodded. He closed his eyes, as if calming himself down—god, was that his pulse running so fast beneath Viktor’s fingers?

“Okay,” Yuuri sighed. “Okay. I’m okay. Viktor, just—”

Viktor hummed, feeling Yuuri’s pulse slowly growing less erratic. “What is it, Yuuri?”

“Lower the difficulty when you do your practices later, would you? Please? Just familiarize yourself with the ice for a while and then you can go for it in the actual competition,” Yuuri said. “You can do it however you want in the actual Free Skate.”

“Alright,” Viktor smiled, trying his best to hide the throbbing ache in his head. “What about some breakfast, huh? I know a great food place just near the rink.”

That, however, hadn’t been the best plan he’s ever had. Yuuri calmed down a bit after some breakfast, but Viktor had excused himself to puke everything back out again. In a dirty public toilet, to top it all off.

Oh, he was going the have the best day ever.

-

Viktor didn’t know what he was thinking.

At the morning practices, he was doing quite fine. He’d done as Yuuri asked, familiarizing himself with the ice as opposed to the usual practice they were having.

He was mostly doing some blocking, making sure his routine didn’t send him crashing to the wall or anything, adjusted to the size of the rink as much as possible. Not that he hasn’t done it before, but he was still slightly dizzy both from last night’s mistake and the lack of sleep, so it was better to be sure.

“Just make sure you can cover the size of the rink,” Yuuri had told him. “I know you get lost in concentration, so try to at least subconsciously map it out so you can avoid any errors later. Got it?”

People were already watching the practices, too.

A few were already clapping their hands, only a fraction compared to what it would be later in the after noon, but Yuuri still went rigid as soon as he saw them. Some of the press were present as well, documenting the practices and interviewing a few people. Viktor kept a close eye on Yuuri, who seemed to have reluctantly accepted an interview on the far corner.

Yuuri looked a lot worse than Viktor, though.

Other than the fact that there were obvious bags under his eyes, he looked visibly worried—and guilty? Yuuri’s tie was slightly askew, his hair done almost haphazardly, and he looked to be slouching a little. Viktor hoped it was the hangover.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault for not being able to control Viktor last night, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to fret like he did on the Short Program—

Viktor tried for a triple axel and fell, gloriously.

The world spun for a moment, then he was hitting the ice. And to put the terrible icing on an equally shitty cake, the crowd reacted with a sympathetic ‘ooh’.

Well, thanks.

Yuuri’s voice came from somewhere, somewhere far away, and then it was getting closer and closer very quickly. When he looked up, Yuuri was already hunched over the railing, his arms open wide.

Viktor couldn’t process for a while, except that he was being helped up by someone, and he was being led to where Yuuri stood.

“Viktor!” Yuuri’s hand were flailing, clawing at air until he was holding Viktor’s hand. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your head? Do you want us to go to the medics?”

Chris was looking at Yuuri as he stood behind him, eyes with worry, mouthing to Viktor something like “is he okay?”.

Viktor nodded a little, hoping it wasn’t so obvious. “Hey,” Viktor held Yuuri’s hand tighter, focused on him again. “Yuuri. Hey, hey. I’m okay. I just fell, okay? I’m okay.”

Viktor felt nerves around his chest, although it wasn’t for him. It was for Yuuri, who looked like he was about to collapse right then and there. To be honest, Viktor wasn’t feeling his best that day, but he was going to ignore that—definitely going to, now that he’s seen Yuuri was just about to tip over into full-blown panic. It wouldn’t be good either of them.

So Viktor finished his rehearsals quickly, pulled Yuuri out of the stadium, and tried his best to eat something before the actual competition.

-

That after noon, Viktor was doing his stretches in the waiting area when he noticed Yuuri’s been missing for quite a while.

He tried to shrug it off at first, continuing his business as everyone else mingled, sometimes Chris letting him join the conversation, but he felt uneasy. Yuuri didn’t usually disappear for this long even when he took his smoke breaks.

Guang-Hong was already on, his routine upbeat in contrast to his graceful short program.

His phone pinged, and as he opened it, it was a text from Mila.

**GO GET ITTT, NIKIFOROV! WE’RE WATCHIIIIING!!!!!1!!**

He smiled.

Ah, Mila. Always so supportive of him.

He went to send a quick reply and scrolled through Yura’s text from last night. If you knew Yura enough, then it’s possible that you already knew what kind of texts he sent Viktor. But that was fine, at least he knew Yura still acknowledged Viktor was alive and worthy of being texted.

He went back to his stretches again, although as it went on, he started getting a bit worried. Viktor knew he was coming in last, and that everything from his hair to his costume was already in place (thanks to Yuuri), but it didn’t feel right to just sit there alone.

So he wandered off (mostly to escape Georgi’s lamenting), down to the parking area, where Yuuri usually smoked. He went around the place, almost getting a bit lost from the many similar-looking cars parked down there, until he saw Yuuri standing by a support beam.

He was leaning unto it, on his fingers a freshly-lit stick, and on the ground, were maybe seven others.

“Yuuri?” Viktor walked closer.

Yuuri turned, instinctively hiding his cigarette away. He had a habit of doing that, Viktor noticed. “Ah, were you done stretching?”

“Yes,” Viktor eyed the cigarette butts on the floor. “Did you just smoke all that in thirty minutes?”

“Yeah?” Yuuri looked down at the flattened butts, like this didn’t seem to be such a big deal, flicking some more ashes to the floor. He wasn’t trembling anymore, but he seemed—awfully calm. That was weird. Yuuri was either delightfully smiling or smirking, and that had been very new to Viktor. “I’ll be here for a little bit more. I’ll come up as soon as I can.”

Viktor frowned. Feeling especially rebellious, he stepped even closer. “Yuuri...”

“Viktor, I’m okay,” he said, his tone rather insistent, pleading.

_Definite not._

Had it been another person, Viktor would have backed away. He knew there was something wrong and the other didn’t want him to meddle, but he didn’t know why his idiot brain pushed him to. He did lack self-control, after all. “Yuuri,” Viktor frowned. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to worry...”

“Please leave me alone, Viktor.”

He tried pushing it even further, stepped a bit closer. “Yuuri, I really don’t know what to say—”

“Then don’t.”

“—I need you to tell me so I don’t worry like this.”

“Viktor, please stop.”

Viktor stepped forward, all caution be damned. Yuuri only watched closely as Viktor put his hands in Yuuri’s cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

And then Viktor found himself staggering back, abruptly. It didn’t make sense at first, but then he saw Yuuri’s hand on his chest, firm and shaking.

Yuuri had pushed him away.  _Crap._

Guilt flashed in Yuuri’s eyes, and without giving Viktor the time to recover from his surprise, Yuuri slid down the support beam and covered his ears.

Oh, god.

“Yuuri, I—” Viktor opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t know what to do.

Yuuri was visibly shaking, cigarette falling from his fingers, sniffling. Jesus, was Yuuri crying? Did Viktor just made him cry?

Shit, shit, shit.

In the last attempt to remedy the mess of his own making, he approached Yuuri, with more caution this time. He knelt beside him, hand going to his back. “Yuuri,” Viktor whispered. “Yuuri, please. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just didn’t know what to do to make you feel better.”

“Viktor, just—” Yuuri still wouldn’t look at him, fingers pulling at his own hair, so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m just really, really nervous, okay? I stepped out because I didn’t want to see you worry. I didn’t want you to know how extremely tense I’d been, and now when you showed up, I didn’t know what to do! I obviously worried you, so what if it affected your performance? What if you missed the podium and I caused it?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighed. “Can I hug you?”

“ _Stop!_ ”

The word echoed in the parking lot, harsher and harsher as it bounced back and forth against the walls. Viktor was frozen, both from shock and guilt and many other things. His heart was racing, faster than his mind allowed him to comprehend, faster than he could acknowledge what exactly had just happened.

“Viktor, I came to coach you because you were wonderful, because you had the potential to win and that I wanted you to see how much you deserve it,” Yuuri sobbed unto his knees, voice shaky. “But now, I feel like I’m getting in the way of it, whatever mistakes I make in coaching you, it could mean bad things for you too. I can’t be weak, Viktor. I can’t. So trust me a little, let me get a hold of myself a little until I could finally face you again!”

Viktor recoiled, inhibitions burning away, hand digging into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Who,” Viktor looked up at him, heart in his throat. “ _Who_ asked you to be perfect, huh? Who asked you to not tell me how you feel, Yuuri Katsuki? I know you’re my coach and all, but I’m—” _your boyfriend, too_. Viktor gulped. “—I care about you. And if you’re not alright, I’ll do all I can to do better. I’ll prove that there’s nothing you’ve ever done to screw me over.”

There was a pause, the only sound was coming from upstairs. Chris’ Free Skate music bled through the ceiling, as were the sounds of the crowd cheering.

Viktor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and prepared himself for another rejection. “So please, come back with me?”

Yuuri looked up to him, and for a moment, he looked younger than Viktor was. He was still, and then very slightly, he nodded.

Viktor encased him in a warm, protective embrace, determined to make the panic go away. Viktor’s heard of panic attacks before, but he’s never witnessed one. He knew what to do in the most textbook sense, but none like this.

“Yuuri, you need not to worry because you did everything for me, and for that, I will forever be thankful,” he whispered, lacing every word with reassurance. “And if you’re worried about my performance, then don’t be. I will not take all your hard work for granted. I have promised you I’ll win for myself. Remember?”

Yuuri nodded.

“I’m sorry I was so forward. I don’t really know how to reassure people, that’s all.” Viktor hugged him tighter. "Besides, we have a bet and it's still on."

And so, like the confirmation of his forgiveness, Yuuri reached up to Viktor’s face—and kissed him.

“You’re weird one, Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuuri smiled, tears still dropping, but he was fine.

-

Viktor thought they’d be much better afterwards.

They were not.

Yuuri had settled, Viktor was forgiven, but they still hadn’t talked to each other since. They walked around the waiting room for while, before Yuuri took Viktor’s arm, and together, they came out to the stadium. Viktor had come out just in time to see Georgi fall, flubbing a jump once again. Yuuri’s hand on Viktor’s arm tightened a little, Viktor noticed but pretended not to.

Soon, It was Viktor’s turn to take the ice.

Georgi had scored lower than Chris, who was leading the current standings. Viktor didn’t know what to say to Yuuri, so instead, he brushed his hair back. Viktor tried memorizing his face for a moment, beautiful, despite having just cried.

Yuuri blinked in shock. Repeatedly.

“Never take your eyes off me.”

And he was off.

Viktor often had trouble trying to convey his story on the ice. He usually thought too much and flubbed his jumps. Now was different, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter if Viktor scored high or not, what mattered was that Yuuri should know what Viktor’s skating was about, what story it told.

The music started.

Familiar now. Something Viktor has heard a thousand times over.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Viktor started a bit late. Fuck.

If it had just been him, if it were a different person who watched him, he wouldn’t have minded. He probably would have shrugged it off and left it alone, because why would he bother?

But now it was different. Now, Yuuri was watching him. Now, Yuuri was the one who poured his heart and soul into the choreography—he and Viktor. They poured all they had into the song to create a story. Yuuri had introduced the steps and told him to envision a narrative, but Viktor wasn’t sure what that had been for.

Viktor was an idiot back then.

What was it that he needed to do again? Right, a combination jump. Not as clean as he wanted it to be, managed it regardless.

Not. Good. Enough.

_Orsù finisco presto questo calice di vino_

_e inizio a prepararmi_

Right, back to the story.

Yuuri’s told him a few things before.

Viktor mostly adored listening to him, just liked the way his eyes lit up when he did. But Yuuri had amazing stories, had a wonderful life, far off from Viktor’s own.

Yuuri, who was born and raised in a loving family, in a humble home in Hasetsu. His parents didn’t know anything about Ice Skating, but they supported him regardless, did all they can to buy his equipment and costumes and to sent him off to competitions.

Their sport wasn’t the cheapest, wasn’t as accessible, but Yuuri loved the ice, he belonged in it.

And like Viktor, he found it to be a way for him to express himself, their own brand of dancing. Their own brand of expressing music through the movement of their bodies alone.

Their own brand of telling stories in the absence of words, written or spoken.

Triple flip, landed.

_Adesso fa’ silenzio_

Despite what he thought, Viktor loved the ice, didn’t he? Always did.

Triple axel, over-rotated.

That’s fine. He’s still not fully recovered from the hangover and lack of sleep, but he was able to pull it off. He could do better, though.

Step sequences.

_Con una spada vorrei tagliare quelle gole che cantano d'amore_

_Vorrei serrare nel gelo le mani che scrivono quei versi d'ardente passione_

Viktor imagined what it would be like to come to Hasetsu, to sink into the hot springs, to visit the ninja castle Yuuri so charmingly described to him. That would be wonderful. He would love to do that.

He didn’t know how long Yuuri was going to be his coach, how long he was going to be on hiatus from competitions, but Viktor was going to make sure he didn’t feel like it was the wrong decision. Yuuri wasn’t ruining Viktor’s career, but he was making it better—he was making Viktor better.

Combination jump, perfectly executed.

The crowd was going wild around him, but that didn’t matter. Viktor still had a routine he needed to pull off. A routine that will prove a lot of things to Yuuri.

Biellmann spin, perfectly arched.

_Questa storia che senso non ha_

_Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle_

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità_

A quad Salchow, but over-rotated.

That’s fine, that’s alright. Try to recover.

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

_Ho paura di perderti_

Yuuri told him they’ll be leaving for Japan next week, and he’s more than ecstatic.

He didn’t know what kind of places he’ll be seeing, but he’s more than excited to visit the market places.

Yuuri was coming home again after five years. Five whole years without seeing his family—and he chose to bring Viktor with him. Of all the people he could invite, of all the people he could have asked to visit the fine beaches with, it was Viktor.

And yes, Viktor was definitely a sap. That didn’t matter.

Triple-triple combination, his over-rotated quad recovered.

_Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_

_le mie mani, le mie gambe,_

“You are an endless chain of surprises, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Surprises.

Their time together has always been about surprises, has always been about doing what they could to make things interesting, spontaneous, beautiful.

Viktor wondered—just wondered, what would happen if he changed up his last jump.

That would do, wouldn’t it?

_e i battiti del cuore_

_si fondono tra loro_

Quad toe-loop, was it? To hell with that.

_Partiamo insieme_

_Ora sono pronto_

Viktor tried for a quad flip—but fell.

But there was enough rotations.

It didn’t matter, though. The crowd was going wild, they were cheering loudly, their voices mixing and echoing into the arena like a pleasant explosion. Viktor loved it, and he loved that for once, he found himself _trying_.

He poured everything into his last step sequences, everything he could, until the last pose.

Even as the music faded, the crowd was still cheering, the applause still very loud.

Viktor didn’t care. He needed to know what Yuuri thought—oh, shit. Wait, what did he think? Was he mad?

He tried looking to the spot where Yuuri stood a few minutes before his program started, but Yuuri wasn’t there any more. He was...running. To the kiss and cry.

Viktor kicked at the ice, as hard as he could, barrelling forwards as opposed to gliding away. And as he reached him, before he could even remove his skate guards, before he could even begin to say something—Yuuri’s arms went around him, and kissed him.

The crowd went silent.

_Holy motherfucking shit._

Yuuri was kissing him.

In front of everyone.

In front of the cameras.

In front of international fucking television.

Realizing what he had just done, Yuuri pulled back, face going so red he might as well blend into Viktor’s costume. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Viktor snorted. “Shut up,” he pulled Yuuri into a kiss again, and this time, the crowd fucking _cheered_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who's going to Hasetsu next chapter.
> 
> Comments are offered to the update gods!


	9. Beaches and Duets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah. Obscene amounts of fluff and domesticity your way, loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ~~lost all self control again and~~ wrote this fluff monster. You're welcome.
> 
> Also, have you noticed the increase in the number of total chapters? Forgive meeeeee.

“Come on, Vicchan.” Yuuri pouted, one hand on the dog carrier. “I know you don’t like it, but we can’t bring you to the passenger seats.”

Viktor looked over silently in fondness. Both of them were just about ready to leave, their bags neatly arranged in the living room, filled with three weeks worth of clothes. Well, two weeks worth of clothes to be exact, since Yuuri snorted when he saw Viktor’s bags and was like, “You know, it’s nice to do laundry for once”. This had Viktor reeling, but not for the reasons Yuuri might think.

He’d hate to admit how he spent hours thinking about meeting Yuuri’s family, staying in their home and doing laundry like it was the most normal thing in the world—and god how was he going to face them after that stunt they pulled on international television?

Viktor winced.

Speaking of the said stunt, Viktor hadn’t really thought about it at the time. It was no big deal, sort of. If Yuuri Katsuki, who was a bundle of nerves and incoherent stuttering that day wasn’t going to care, he was going to do the same. At first, it was just Chris, who came in first at the competition, winking at him from the highest podium. Then it was Georgi, who fucking _hugged_ him after they were awarded their medals, and was like “romance is not dead in your heart, after all”.

Whatever the hell that meant.

But it was Georgi. He was a sap. If there was a scale for sappiness, Georgi would break it. So Viktor ignored it altogether, not bothering to check social media because he was exhausted and giddy. Plus, Yuuri did reward him at their hotel room, so it couldn’t get any better.

The full realization of what he had done took form in a wave of texts from Mila, who was mostly sending him emojis, gibberish alphabet in all caps, and finally, screenshots from various forums and online news articles. She was calling him only to shriek into the phone that Viktor had to put it down and ask her to text him instead. It didn’t work. He still wasn’t getting anything relatively understandable in terms of her use of a keyboard.

Yura, on the other hand, hasn’t texted Viktor since. Maybe this was the final straw and Viktor was already dead to him.

Fuck.

Viktor tried snapping out of it by drinking into his cup of tea. Coffee wasn’t going to help his nerves at the moment—and why was he still thinking about nerves? Come on. To free himself of the misery, he looked over to the living room once more. And alas, there was no progress made.

Yuuri was still trying to win a staring contest with his poodle (something rather adorable, to be honest), hoping that Vicchan more or less complied. He was still crouched down, hand tentative and voice soothing, as if Vicchan were a three-year-old.

Viktor would very much like to watch this unfold all day, but that would mean they’ll be late for their flight.

And disappoint Yuuri’s family, but he tried pushing that out of his mind.

Better not disappoint his family.

_Stop thinking about that, Jesus._

He stepped over to intervene, grinning. He shrugged at Yuuri before his hand reached out to scratch the poodle behind the ears. “Come on, boy. We promise to bring you to the beach as soon as we get there!” Viktor knelt down, and as soon as he did, Vicchan moved away from Yuuri to snuggle close to Viktor. “That’s right, doesn’t matter if we’re jet-lagged. We’ll get you to that beach no matter what, yes?”

Vicchan stared at Viktor and shifted even closer to him, panting happily.

Yuuri looked over to them, looking a bit betrayed. “I’m starting to think you’re conspiring against me,” he squinted at Vicchan, arm shooting out to point at them accusingly. “Remember who raised you. It’s me, not him. You just met him.”

“Yeah, but so did you.” Viktor made a move to wrap his arms around the dog, intentionally keeping his gaze on Yuuri, nuzzling into the soft brown fur. “Did you hear him? Don’t listen to him.” He cooed. “What do you want, huh? Maybe a biscuit? I can give you a biscuit.”

Yuuri groaned. “Were you giving him too many treats again?”

“Uh, no?” Viktor blinked at Yuuri innocently, his tone lilting a little, before he bent his head low and stage-whispered. “Dad doesn’t have to know.”

With enough coaxing, they got Vicchan to finally agree to be temporarily situated in the dog carrier. Yuuri deliberately chose to purchase something a little a bit bigger than what dogs Vicchan’s size usually required, so to make sure he had the most comfort manageable. That had been unnecessary, but Viktor was a sap, so of course he thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

Not a sap that dethroned Georgi, he reminded himself.

No, not at all.

They were already at the airport by four in the morning, checked Vicchan and their bags in, and waited for the next hour to come.

Yuuri dragged Viktor to a small little stall for some breakfast and coffee, though Viktor didn’t really feel like eating. When he voiced this out, Yuuri had only frowned, and told him not to skip breakfast with a deliberate “ _please_ ” laced with something else.

So Viktor trotted off in obedience, ordering the first thing he saw on the menu, and was asked to wait for Yuuri on one of the tables.

“Ugh,” Viktor groaned as he was biting off his chicken tenders, nose wrinkling. “Airport food.”

Yuuri snorted. “A bit picky, are we?”

“Well, aren’t you?” Viktor looked down on his food tray and considered throwing it down the garbage. Yuuri seemed to be enjoying his wrinkly burger...or was he? Viktor would never know. He pointed at Yuuri’s plate in disgust. “This thing’s cold and overpriced. I bet I can get something similar downtown with less oil and half the price. With newer buns, too.”

“If you’ve ever gone to college in Detroit, then I’m sure you’ll understand,” Yuuri laughed. “There’s this one time Phichit and I were too busy with papers and projects that we had to order Chinese takeout and pizza for the whole of three weeks. Sometimes instant noodles. The over-priced, convenience store kind.”

Viktor imagined the scenario in his head and chuckled. “Isn’t that really bad for you?”

“Yes, but what can you do? My stomach has the right ecosystem to sustain the worst kinds of food there is,” Yuuri gestured at the plastic tray in front of Viktor, sympathetic. “You know, if you don’t really like it, we could just go get you some chips or something...” He paused, blinking. “Oh wait—”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Viktor’s eyes went wide, hand clutching at his chest. “Did you just allow me to eat something nice for once?”

“Viktor!”

But Viktor was already looking for his wallet. “I’m going to get us something!”

Then he was off.

He had expected Yuuri to come after him, but didn’t. Viktor could already hear Yuuri laughing from behind him, enough to know that he wasn't about to run up a slope as soon as they arrived in Japan.

Christ, how long has he gone without Cheetos again? A few months? What a travesty.

-

Twelve hours on a plane and another additional train ride was enough for Viktor to think twice about his promise to Vicchan. Sure, he slept during the flight, but he was mostly drinking champagne when he got a little too bored.

He browsed his phone for some movies, but that hadn’t kept him busy for too long. He went to get his Kindle and found nothing particularly interesting, tried to focus on the in-flight movie but it was too much drama for him to handle, tried waking Yuuri up for some mindless conversation but Viktor soon discovered he won’t budge.

Christ, was it the nerves after all?

Yuuri, however, was used to all of it. He had mostly slept in between watching the aforementioned sappy movie until they landed, managed to shuffle around the airport to get Vicchan and their bags, and pull Viktor along the busy train stations while trying to politely acknowledge some of his fans.

Viktor’s pretty well travelled minus all the competitions he’s been to, but for some obnoxiously weird reason, this impromptu trip to Japan had felt different from all those.

The reality of it slapped him in the face as soon as he stepped off of the plane and saw all sorts of signs he couldn’t read. Yuuri rarely did speak Japanese around him, taught him a few lines, but all the Kanji around him was intimidating.

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri chuckled as he opened the dog carrier, Vicchan bounding out of it excitedly. “You better be the one to bring him to the beach tonight, because I don’t think I can stay standing up for longer.”

“...but I thought we were in this together!”

“It was your idea, Viktor.” Yuuri whispered, as if Vicchan was actually going to hear the conversation and throw a fit if he did. Regardless, it was amusing, so Viktor went with it.

“It’s a nice town,” Viktor mused, looking around as he went.

It was relatively less-populated than he’s used to, but it was quiet. The air smelled of salt, but pleasant, the scent very akin to the beaches he went to when he was a lot younger.

The sun had already set by the time they arrived, blessing him with the sight of Hasetsu at twilight. Vicchan was walking a little further ahead than him and Yuuri, his tiny little tail wagging as he sniffed around the corners of the road.

“That used to be Minako-sensei’s studio,” Yuuri pointed at a particularly nondescript building, now closed down. From how it looked, Viktor guessed that had been the case for a while now. “I don’t know if anyone’s been teaching the kids ballet anymore, though.”

Viktor couldn’t help but notice the note of sadness in Yuuri’s voice. It was barely there, almost slipping out subconsciously, his eyes wandering like he’s rediscovering a place long forgotten. “I’m sure someone will turn up soon,” Viktor tried for something he hoped was reassurance, but he was never good at it to begin with, so it must’ve sounded a bit weird. “Why did Minako move to America anyway?”

“Hmmm? Oh that? She moved in with a boyfriend once,” Yuuri shrugged. “That didn’t work out, but she already had a lot of students in Detroit. Back when I was doing ballet, there wasn’t too many of us, more so when I started to skate...so, I guess she wasn’t really losing anything when she left.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri snorted. “Oh?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You always know what to say,” Yuuri smiled. His eyes moved to Vicchan again, and then he called out. “Knock Mari off her feet as hard as you can for me!”

Viktor looked toward the direction of the poodle, now bounding off into the distance, and turned left. He was about to start worrying about the dog when Yuuri laughed and said, “I guess we’re here.”

Yu-topia Akatsuki was, well...Viktor can’t describe it because apparently his brain went haywire.

A woman who looked to be a little older than Yuuri stood at the doorway, clad in familiar robes he’s seen in pictures, a cigarette clipped between her lips. From how Vicchan was barrelling over to her in excitement, Viktor came to the assumption that this might be Mari, Yuuri’s sister.

Viktor swallowed.

Yuuri came over to hug her, sputtering in Japanese at lighting speed. He looked toward Viktor, who was still uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clutching at the handle of his trolley for support.

“Hey,” Yuuri called out. “Come over here for a second.”

As if on autopilot, Viktor pulled his bags along, taking Yuuri’s as well, even though that hadn’t been necessary since the distance wasn’t too far away.

Yuuri’s hand went over to his shoulder as soon as he was close enough, and pulled him forward until he was face to face with Yuuri’s sister. “This is my sister Mari, I’ve told you about her.” Yuuri gestured at the said sister and squeezed Viktor’s shoulder. “Nee-chan, this is Viktor.”

Mari looked to Viktor like he was a specimen in a lab, flicking the ashes of her cigarette at her side. “So you’re his boyfriend?”

Viktor’s jaw dropped.

Yuuri frowned. “Nee-chan, I said not to harass him.”

“No one’s harassing anyone,” Mari snorted, although she did offer Viktor a smile. Viktor didn’t know if he should feel a lot better or worse. “Do _you_ feel harassed?”

“I—no,” Viktor managed. “No, not really.” He tried shaking the overwhelming nerves away and stuck his hand out awkwardly. “I’m—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Oh, wow.

Thankfully, Mari was kind enough to take his hand and shook it, although she still eyed him knowingly. It was unfair, Viktor was still getting used to handling Yuuri Katsuki’s sudden bursts of terrorism and now this. At least Yuuri managed to pull off passive-aggressiveness—Mari seemed like the type to knowingly tease someone knowing they’re terrified.

“Come,” Mari jerked her head toward the door. “Dinner’s waiting.”

And so was Yuuri’s family, Viktor realized.

As soon as they stepped into the establishment, Vicchan was already there, running back and forth between an old couple wearing the same robes as Mari. Yuuri ran to hug them both, speaking in hurried Japanese again, laughing at something Viktor didn’t understand.

Viktor didn’t know what was being said or who was being referred to, but he did like the expression on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri looked happy.

And that was enough.

Viktor was looking at Yuuri fondly, how he interacted with people, with his parents. He probably waited for quite a while before coming home to them, with his busy schedule and all. He allowed himself to enjoy the sight for a while, standing there like a moron, smiling.

He snapped out of it as soon as Yuuri’s mother—Hiroko, he remembered—was coming toward his direction. “Oh, you must be Viktor! We’ve heard a lot about you!” Hiroko eyed him in delight, taking his hands in hers. She was a lot more fluent in English than Mari, slight Japanese accent leaking through, but delightful and sweet regardless. “Forgive Yuuri, if I have known much sooner I would’ve _demanded_ he took you home immediately.”

Viktor was now certain that his whole system had shut down.

Sputtering, he bowed his head a little and returned Hiroko’s smile. “Um, no, no. It’s okay. I—uh, I’m—thank you for having me on such a short notice.” _Shit_.

“Okaa-san, did you make what I asked?” Yuuri, Viktor noticed, was now in the kitchen. And by the sound of it, he was already sifting through some of the plates and silverware.

Hiroko replied to Yuuri in Japanese, but her attention went back to Viktor almost immediately, waving for her husband to come on over. He did, and now Viktor was close to combusting into a sputtering piece of shit in front of Yuuri’s parents. “This is my husband Toshiya,” she smiled.

Viktor nodded and held out his hand, which Toshiya gleefully accepted. He didn’t have the murderous smile Viktor’s been having nightmares about since Yuuri agreed to him coming to Japan, but still...

“He doesn’t speak much English, but he tries.” Hiroko added.

Toshiya sheepishly said something in return, head bowed a little, with a smile as pleasant as Hiroko’s.

Viktor wondered if there was a time that Yuuri had been the same—sheepish and soft-spoken like his father or perpetually smiling like his mother. He saw glimpses of those, but he’d much rather see them more often.

Viktor noticed that he went silent for much longer than he wanted to. To make things worse, Hiroko and Toshiya were looking at him expectantly.

Did they ask him something? Something he perhaps didn’t hear? It was then that sirens began to wail inside Viktor’s head. Shit, shit, shit—

Thankfully, Yuuri was out of the kitchen again, now holding the plates. “Okaa-san, I hope you’re not interrogating him.”

Mari peeked from the doorway, looked around, and snorted. “Not yet, anyway.”

Viktor shivered.

Yuuri ignored her and looked up to Viktor. “Help me set up the table?”

He’s never agreed to anything fast enough.

-

Despite Viktor’s stupid nerves, dinner was spectacular.

Yuuri often told him about one particular favourite dish too many times that he sometimes begged to be taken to a restaurant in Detroit. But Yuuri had only scrunched up his nose and had asked to wait a little longer—he didn’t want to ruin Katsudon for Viktor forever, he has said. Which in retrospect, made Viktor wonder if Yuuri had planned to bring him to Japan all along.

Probably not, but one pathetic soul can hope.

And no, he still hasn't dethroned the king of sappiness, Georgi Popovich.

Not at all.

“So Viktor...” It was Mari, and that alone didn’t need anymore explanation. “What did you like about Yuuri?”

Fuck.

“Nee-chan, please. We’re eating.”

“What?” Mari blinked up at Yuuri, and to Viktor’s horror, it was startlingly familiar. One of the many things Yuuri shared with his sister was their expressions, apparently, and that—was Yuuri’s plotting expression. He’s seen it before, too often, and he wished to never see it ever again. “No, seriously, you never brought anyone home and here’s a handsome young man you kissed on air—”

“Okay, Christ. Stop. Please.” Yuuri hid his face in his hands. “Please let me enjoy dinner for once.”

And finally, Viktor _did_ laugh. It was helpful, for all the tension was suddenly drained from his system. Maybe he was finally booting up from the last crash. “I do like his skating but that’d be too cliché,” Viktor smiled. “And oh, I like it when he gets all fidgety and starts to offer slipping my gloves on for me.”

Mari squinted at her brother. “Ah, very typical.” She looked a little bit pleased now, but Yuuri stayed flustered. “I remember Yuuri carrying one of his classmates to the clinic just because they got a nosebleed. Yuuri thought the kid was having a heatstroke.”

“And did he have a heatstroke?”

“No,” Mari snorted. “The kid got punched in the face.”

When that was done, Viktor was able to loosen up a bit. Yuuri’s parents had questions for him, obviously. But if it were an interrogation, they didn’t make it sound like one, because they were being so nice about it. The questions were mostly about Russia, how Viktor grew up, and what he did on his spare time. Of course, he never mentioned all the drinking he’s been doing since he turned thirteen, because, well...you already knew why.

“We saw you skate Yuuri’s routine!” Hiroko beamed. “I think Yuuko-chan was the one who showed it to us.”

“Oh, that,” Viktor blushed. “Ah, it was a very good routine. So I try.”

“We also make sure to watch you both when the Grand Prix competitions air.”

Viktor nearly choked on rice, but he quickly recovered by having some water. “Thank you,” Viktor said. “Your son’s a good coach, truly.”

In return, Hiroko went on to share some childhood mishaps Yuuri went through—one that involved him getting caught wearing a dress and Hiroko had offered to buy him a few. Those, and a whole other disasters related to make-up and ballet.

So his parents weren’t against Yuuri being queer, and that was nice.

Maybe Viktor had expected a stare down because Yuuri was bringing home a man as opposed to a pretty girl. And to know that he was welcome, to know that it was fine for Viktor to be what he is and still be with Yuuri, that had burned away a large chunk of the worry he’s been keeping inside for too long.

“Are you doing fine?” Yuuri’s hand found his underneath the table, his mouth quirking into a small smile.

Yuuri was still blushing from having heard childhood stories he’d long locked away—and that, Viktor decided, had just become one of the many expressions of Yuuri Katsuki that he loved.

Viktor sighed, his heart fluttering for the first time in a very long time.

-

They were cleaning up when Mari appeared by the kitchen door. Viktor had offered to help with the dishes, drying off as Hiroko washed them.

Yuuri was also idly leaning against one of the counters, exchanging conversations with both his mother and Viktor, sometimes even dropping jokes here and there.

“Yuuri, we set up the banquet room with a bed,” she said, in heavily accented English, maybe for Viktor’s benefit. “That’s about right, yes?”

Yuuri looked up from his phone, confused. “Didn’t you prepare my old room?”

“Yes, but your bed’s too small.”

This didn’t seem to mean anything to Viktor at first, so he continued on drying the plates being handed off to him. It wasn’t until he heard Yuuri sputtering about in Japanese, sounding outmost embarrassed, that he looked up from his work at hand.

Mari was looking at him, as if expecting Viktor to say something.

He looked to Yuuri and back at her. He was missing something, wasn’t he? “What?”

“You don’t sleep in the same room?” Mari asked helpfully.

He almost dropped the plate. “I—”

“Use the banquet room, Yuuri,” Hiroko’s soft voice chimed in, and as Viktor looked to her, she was smiling.

Yuuri buried his face into his palms, his ears visibly pink from the embarrassment. “I knew coming here was a mistake.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” Mari jokingly scolded. “I’ll go take your bags to your room.”

Viktor was still in a daze as Mari went to tell him where everything was—the closet, the restroom, and the hot springs. She handed him a set of robes to wear around the onsen—they felt nice in his hands, but he was internally short-circuiting, so there wasn’t much that he said except something that sounded like, “thanks”.

She looked a bit confused, but waved at him dismissively. “Okay. Don’t be too loud, you two.”

He nodded mechanically as she left, staring down at the particularly large futon on the tatami-covered floor. Viktor should probably have blanched based on the laws of human instinct, but he was numb and overwhelmed. Maybe he’ll joke about it later to redeem himself.

Yuuri appeared a few moments later, Vicchan in his arms. “Do you want to soak in the hot springs, or?”

He looked up at Yuuri, eyes trailing down to the poodle, and then remembered. “Ah, yeah. The beach.” He played with his hands a little, and then asked, “Is it okay if we took a walk this late?”

“It’s only nine, Viktor.”

“Right.” Stared at Yuuri again, considering, then he took their coats and went for the door. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Ah, so eloquent.

The walk to the said beach was silent. Not awkward, but Viktor was nervous for some reason. Maybe he was just being silly. He’s loosened up a little at dinner earlier and there was no way in hell that his emergency alarms were back on—

“Come on, we’ll sit here.” Yuuri was pulling at his sleeves, urging him to sit. Viktor complied, their thighs touching as he lowered himself unto the soft sand.

The breeze was cold, something he was used to, especially when it was nearly winter. He allowed himself to look out unto the beach, the horizon beautifully blending from silver to blue, water indistinct from the sky if it weren’t for the moon’s reflection. Vicchan was enjoying the beach, running around and frolicking in the sand. It was lovely.

“Viktor, you’re acting weird again.”

He looked to Yuuri, feeling a bit defensive. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Yuuri scrunched up his eyebrows, a thing he did when he was trying figure something out. “You seem really nervous.”

Dumbfounded, the only reply he could come up with was a quick, “sure”. Which didn’t really make sense to begin with, but it would’ve been a lot weirder if he stayed silent.

Unconvinced, Yuuri frowned. He still had that look where he’s thinking deeply again, but didn’t push any further. Instead, he reached for Viktor’s hand and started playing with his fingers, something Viktor has come to know Yuuri liked to do very often. “Was this—was this all too fast for you? Should we have stayed in Detroit after all?”

He doubted that. Viktor long suspected Yuuri was partly glad he was assigned to the NHK because it was in Japan. Yuuri’s never been assigned to it for the last five years, Viktor knew. So he didn’t want Yuuri to miss the opportunity, not when there’s a perfectly good rink they could use for practice and a nice neighbourhood to do his morning jogs.

But he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri’s hand twitched in Viktor’s. “I mean, my family was a bit forward and stuff, so I figured you were a bit overwhelmed. It’s like they think you’re...”

When Yuuri didn’t continue, Viktor urged him on. “I’m what?”

“ _Viktor_.”

“Your boyfriend?”

Silence.

“I’m not?”

Yuuri was silent still, fumbling with Viktor’s fingers, eyes drawn to their entwined hands. He had beautiful, thick eyelashes. They looked lovely when his eyes were cast down like that, lovely when they fluttered open, lovely when he looked Viktor straight in the eye. Viktor wondered if there was a physical angle he didn’t like about Yuuri Katsuki, and whether it was possible to think of another as perfect.

“Well, we haven’t really talked about it, haven’t we?” Yuuri muttered.

“No, we haven’t.”

“Does that bother you?” Yuuri looked up at him now, looking worried.

Viktor didn’t know what Yuuri was worrying about. All he did, all the things they did together, and yet he’s still worried about the need to talk it over? Was it necessary for them to put things on table and confirm what they were to each other? Did they need a wall filled with sticky-notes to know what it was?

It was a fact that Viktor was no good with words, no good with anything but apologizing after the damage was done—so of course, like the reckless idiot he is, he went in to kiss Yuuri instead.

It was gentle, soft, and lingering. The kind of kiss they didn’t share too often, but otherwise the most electric of them all.

He pulled away only to lightly kiss Yuuri’s temple, lips very close to the other’s ear. His free hand came up to run his fingers through Yuuri’s soft hair, relishing in the scent of citrus mixing with the salt of the ocean. “Does that answer your question?”

“Maybe.”

“You should know by now, that I’m no good with telling you how I feel.”

Yuuri snorted. “I knew that.”

“Shut up.”

He felt Yuuri laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly, his voice deep and wonderful against Viktor’s ear. Yuuri pulled away from the embrace, kissing Viktor again, but it was brief. Yuuri was looking up at him with eagerness, yet again one of the many wonderful expressions Viktor has come to love. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you like classical music?”

“Tchaikovsky,” Viktor answered automatically. “And you?”

“Bach.”

Viktor faked a snore.

Yuuri gasped, pointed at him, looking offended. “Excuse you, Bach was a genius.”

“Sure,” Viktor smiled. He really did like Bach, listened to the records since he started dancing, but he did like teasing Yuuri at every chance he could get. He would take back his word in honour of the great Bach, but maybe not today. Not when he was still enjoying the banter they were having. God bless Bach’s soul.

“Can I ask you another?”

“Okay,” Viktor replied absentmindedly, fiddling with Yuuri’s fingers.

“Can I call you my boyfriend, Viktor Nikiforov?”

Viktor’s hand went very still, heart pounding so fast he thought he might have a heart attack. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. Yuuri didn’t need to ask it in the first place, so Viktor beamed up at him. “I’m not sure. I’ll get back to it.”

Yuuri clicked his tongue. “Oh, you are _so_  running the extra five miles.”

The impending doom flashing before his eyes, Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, and wailed. “I’m sooooorry! Yes you can, starting right this second—”

-

Viktor was reminded of his own idiocy when he met the triplets at the Ice Castle. They were ten, Yuuri informed him, and knew a lot about figure skating. They were the kind of fans who spent too much time browsing through magazines, watched videos online, and took note of all the skaters who ever competed in the ISU. That was a long lost memory to Viktor, something he thankfully managed to forget over time, and now he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be happy about it or just shrivel up and die of internal embarrassment.

“Can we take photos with you, Viktor?” One of the girls said. Frankly, Viktor couldn’t tell them apart, but it wasn’t like they broke away from each other too often, so maybe he’ll try harder next time.

Viktor smiled. “Sure, why not?”

“Are you and Yuuri-kun dating?” Another one asked.

He perked up a little, looking Yuuri for a confirmation. Yuuri shrugged, wordless, but he did smile.

“Yes,” Viktor grinned. “Yes, we are.”

After the girls stopped squealing and throwing rapid questions, Viktor knelt down to snap a few photos with them, which was endless. It all came to cease when a man came to usher them away, the girls pouting a little when they were told to go arrange the rental skates.

Yuuri introduced Viktor to the owner of the rink. He found out that his name was Takeshi, Yuuko’s husband. Takeshi supposedly liked to skate as a kid, and had met Yuuri around that time, too.

“Hasn’t Yuuko-san come home yet?” Yuuri asked in English, making a habit of it so Viktor wasn’t excluded from the conversations.

“She’s still covering for her aunt at the pet shop, I’m afraid.” Takeshi shrugged.

Oh, right. Now Viktor remembered Yuuko from the pet servicing shop they went to in Detroit. Jesus, and here he thought Yuuri was only teasing about his forgetfulness.

“But I’m still here when you need to practice,” Takeshi shrugged. It looked a bit old, the facility, but well cared for regardless. “She told me to reserve the rink the day after you arrive, and then you’re free to arrange your schedule for the rest of the month.”

“Oh, sorry!” Yuuri bowed a little. “I forgot about the reservations! I’m going to have to thank her later.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Takeshi shrugged, coming up behind the counter to browse through a logbook. “We mostly get kids coming in, so we’re not too busy during the school days. They do have skating classes on the weekends, though.”

Yuuri must have heard the silent request in Takeshi’s words, because he smiled brightly and said, “It’s okay, we’ll train in the afternoon then.”

As Takeshi was sighing in grateful relief, so was Viktor, a little proud.

-

Three days into practicing the quadruple flip, Viktor was throbbing at the knees, probably already bruising. He didn’t want to pull up his pants to check though, just in case Yuuri was going to see and start banning him from attempting any more jumps again.

Although, that wouldn’t be too bad—what with the hot springs being the best thing ever and all.

“Let’s take a break, huh?” Yuuri pulled him up, Viktor hiding a wince from falling for the umpteenth time that day.

He was sure, that in the span of time he’s trained for the current season, he had become to accept the competitive part of skating along the way. There was nothing that compared to the adrenaline it brought him. Call it a drive to do better or something, Viktor can’t really explain because he was never that eloquent anyway. He’s been told about it before.

“Have you thought about what you wanted to do for your exhibition skate?” Yuuri asked, towelling the sweat off of Viktor’s neck as they on the floor. “We won’t have much time practicing it if you decide any later than next week.”

Right. Yuuri has asked him about it before, which made Viktor scrunch up his eyebrows and was like, “but we don’t know if I’ll make it to the finals yet”. This, like most times when Viktor suggested he wasn’t going to make it, didn’t bode well with Yuuri. Viktor remembered getting a lecture about not getting motivated enough, and of course, he was asked to run up and down the building again. Six times. He might have ruptured one of his lungs.

“Oh, about that—” Viktor quickly went to the locker rooms, scoured his bags for a particular CD, and came running back. He still wasn’t sure how to tell Yuuri, so instead, he went to the CD player near the corner, dragging the other along with him. “I contacted the artist about two weeks ago.”

Yuuri blinked, obviously still wasn’t understanding anything.

Viktor gestured at the ice, feeling giddy on the inside. “Let’s get back to the rink?”

Please.

Reluctantly, Yuuri nodded. “Okay.”

And so they did, gliding side by side toward the centre of the ice, the music echoing nicely within the almost-empty space. Empty, save for the two of them. It would’ve have been romantic if the music just started playing right then and there, but Viktor had forgotten to press play, so he had to awkwardly lean over the railings to get to radio and skate back to Yuuri again.

_So smooth, Vitya._

As the music played (finally), Viktor noticed Yuuri looking up, as if hearing something familiar—and then his expression went back to deep concentration, apparently noticing that whatever he heard, it wasn’t quite what he expected.

Viktor didn’t want to explain the surprise, so he waited.

And oh, was it satisfying to see Yuuri’s face glow in delighted realization.

“It’s the duet version of _Stammi Vicino,_ ” Viktor smiled. “I wasn’t the cheapest I could get my hands on, but I thought it was perfect.”

Yuuri still stared back in shock. “But—but wouldn’t it be the same thing as your Free Skate?”

The lyrics came on again, familiar still, but now it had two voices blending together beautifully.

“I wonder about that,” Viktor took Yuuri by the waist, pulled him close, and began to lead them into a what could have been a slow waltz. There was nothing special about it, no special movement or anything like that, just slowly gliding around the ice in each other’s arms. “Will you dance with me, Yuuri Katsuki?”

“I already am.” Yuuri buried his nose into the crook of Viktor’s neck, cold but comforting, uncaring lack of choreography in Viktor’s leading. Free and spontaneous, but wonderful.

“I meant the Exhibition Skate,” Viktor but at his lower lip involuntarily, waiting, hoping, anticipating agreement. “I want you to skate it with me.”

Yuuri pulled back, though his feet never ceased moving. “Is that allowed?”

Not a straight out ‘no’, then.

“If it’s you, they would,” Slightly confident than he was a few minutes earlier, Viktor leaned down to kiss him. “If you still don’t think so, then do it for me. Please?”

For a while, Yuuri was only looking up at him, eyes seeking something in his, and as it went on, Viktor’s heart pounded. What if he said no? What if it really wasn’t allowed?

All his doubts, however, came fading away as Yuuri leaned close and embraced him again, whispering softly, “Sure. Sure, why not?”

And now, more than ever, Viktor wanted to do everything to get to the finals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, yeah. Here's what I'd like to call a filler chapter.
> 
> Was this a good idea, or?


	10. Yura and Vicchan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossing angst territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a sad excuse for why this had taken so long to go up, but that doesn't matter right now. Let's go.

“Viktor, did you pack your costume?” Yuuri called from the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running audible from where Viktor was hunched over his bags.

Viktor usually didn’t pack up until the last second, but that had changed since Yuuri started coaching him. Even if they had enough time for lunch and the hotel relatively close to the rink, Yuuri always made sure things were packed up before the morning practices, double check it before they get breakfast, then double check them again at lunch.

“Better bring too much than too little,” Yuuri had told him when he made a face once.

After a few weeks of getting used to all this, Viktor didn’t even complain anymore.

So he packed as he was asked, Yuuri’s checklist now very much familiar to him. He packed some breath mints and face towels for whenever. He threw in an extra roll of tissues, because apparently skates can loosen overtime, and Yuuri might need to stuff Viktor’s if they weren’t snug enough. Yuuri also bought him a cold compress and sports bandages, a few packs of gum and pain medicine, antacid pills and shit he didn’t even know what were for. He put them inside his gym bag anyway, because fretting Yuuri was better than full-on panicking Yuuri.

“Did you check your blades?” Yuuri was now out of the bathroom—

And Viktor’s jaw dropped. His Yuuri was fully nude, save for the towel he used to dry his hair, droplets of water dusting his pale shoulders.

Viktor stared for a while, savouring the sight, before Yuuri noticed and threw a pillow at him.

Oh, how he wanted to take Yuuri then and there, but he’d probably be rejected faster than he’d fallen on an attempt at a quad flip. A bad joke, which was another story for another time, so he wasn’t going to think about that. Not that he had the ability to think, what with Yuuri walking around in the nude like that.

“Viktor, I’m serious,” Yuuri frowned, continuously drying his hair like Viktor wasn’t close to getting an aneurysm. “If there’s any damage to the blade, you could easily land badly and get injuries...”

“I have,” Viktor answered quickly, sensing the irritation in Yuuri’s voice. “You’re just a delight to look at when you’ve got nothing on, that’s all.”

_Did that do the trick?_

Yuuri snorted, threw the towel on the side table, and went to open his luggage.

_Guess not._

To make it all the more frustrating, Yuuri might or might have not intentionally brushed his naked thigh against Viktor’s while he was at it.

_Fuck._

As soon Viktor was able to pull his eyes away, he was most immediately being pulled toward Yuuri again, hot breath against his ears. He went completely still, so close to combusting, that he had to try calming himself down.

Yuuri, though Viktor was sure he was fully aware of the effect he had, didn’t waver. His voice was steady and breathy, taunting and stern. “You’re only getting some of this if you do well in your Short Program this afternoon.”

Viktor swallowed, cheeks and ears suddenly very hot. “And if I did, say, do well?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri pulled away and winked. “You’ll just have to use your imagination.”

And just like that, Yuuri was moving away, further and further away from Viktor’s reach, standing up with his tie and dress shoes in hand.

_Damn._

Viktor expected Yuuri to say something more, but there was nothing. The bastard was beginning to dress himself (Jesus, in a grey dress shirt too), black suit and trousers already laid neatly on the bed. Yuuri always did look sexy in a fucking suit. No matter the colour. No matter the occasion. Or maybe it was just Viktor’s idiot brain.

“How high a score is ‘ _doing well’_?” Viktor asked, almost impulsively.

Yuuri paused halfway from pulling his trousers on, his eyes widening, and turned to Viktor slowly. Before Viktor could word out his regrettable lack of filter, though, a smirk slowly appeared on Yuuri’s face. “How about a personal best?”

Viktor blanched. “That’s pretty high.”

“Yes,” Yuuri shrugged. “But I’ll be _riding_ in excitement if you did manage it.”

His brain short-circuiting, as if all bodily function suddenly going haywire, Viktor choked on his own spit.

-

Yura bumped into Viktor at the morning practice.

Well, since its Yura, it’s not exactly ‘bumping’ in its metaphorical sense. Frankly, it hurt a little, since Yura was all limbs and bones and sharp edges. He did talk to Viktor though, albeit coming off more aggressive than Viktor hoped.

“Oi, the geezer better be not pulling anymore stunts this time,” Yura pointed at Viktor, glare evidently forced.

Yura didn’t want to admit to anything relatively close to human emotion, because, well...he’s Yura.

Viktor, however, wasn’t fazed. Instead, he patted him on the forehead, intentionally scratching Yura’s ears like the cat he is. “Aw, Yura. Did you miss me? Are you looking out for me, then?”

Yura snarled, jerked away from Viktor, and backpedalled like had just been told something revolting. “First of all, you are disgusting, second of all, what you did back in Canada was disgusting,” Yura looked over Viktor’s shoulder and pointed a finger toward that direction. “Lastly, you are both disgusting.”

“Aw, look at him, Viktor,” Yuuri was suddenly beside Viktor, grinning. “Do you think we should adopt him?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” Viktor hummed. “He needs to learn manners first, that’s for sure.”

“Ah,” Yuuri tapped his shoulder. “Like father like son. Maybe I should teach him to expand his vocabulary first.”

“I don’t have time for this!” Yura, obviously red with rage (or embarrassment), turned away and went marching off to a different direction.

Yuuri laughed, pushing his hands inside his pockets. “I like that kid.”

Viktor blinked at Yuuri, expecting a punchline.

There was none.

“...You can’t be serious?”

“What?” Yuuri shrugged. “Maybe we should invite him to dinner sometime.”

Bumping into Yura wasn’t the only eventful thing happening thus far. Viktor saw Yakov again, the said meeting involving Viktor trying to explain himself a little, but he was quickly shot down with a “I don’t mind that you’re competing again, but it would be nice if you went back to Russia. _Seriously_ , Vitya. I can only imagine how much alcohol is in your blood these days,” his former coach looked to him with concern. “And was Katsuki drunk during Skate Canada? Did you rub off on him?”

What the fuck.

“Yakov!” Viktor feigned being utterly offended. “You can’t blame me for every single alcoholic there is in the country.”

Mila, however, didn’t proverbially bump into Viktor as much as she literally barrelled into him, speaking in mostly interrogatives. Viktor had to struggle to stay standing and calm her down before she stopped speaking, collected herself, and gasped, “Not dating my _ass_ , Nikiforov!”

Viktor noticed she was looking around for someone, most likely Yuuri, but Viktor didn’t want to deal with that right now. So he tried shaking Mila off, deliberately taking the longest route to get to the bleachers where Yuuri was, but Mila managed to follow him anyway.

“Coach Yuuri!” Mila called from behind Viktor, trotting toward Yuuri and throwing her arms around the other. “Congratulations on snagging Vitya!” She shrieked, and rather loudly too. Loud enough that Yura was sending them glares from across the rink. “I should be congratulating Vitya, though. But he won’t listen to me.”

Yuuri laughed, not flustered in the least. He’s gotten used to the attention he and Viktor were getting from the media, not to mention that the tabloids have been trying to probe deeper into his personal life for years, so Mila was nothing in comparison to those.

It wasn’t like they had anything to hide after that very public display in Canada.

“I thought your event was tomorrow?” Yuuri looked over to Mila, gesturing for Viktor to sit on the bleachers.

“Yeah, it is,” Mila waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, forget about that. I’m always hanging around so it’s not a big deal. So how was it?” She turned to Viktor. “Frankly, I am offended to have been left out of the juicy stuff.”

Rolling his eyes, Viktor sat on the bleachers and pulled out his skates, which were immediately taken from his hands. Yuuri was already crouched in front of him, unlacing Viktor’s running shoes. “Because I knew you’d react like this.”

Mila sighed, eyes dreamily gazing at them as Yuuri proceeded to put on Viktor’s skates. “Ah, so in love.”

“Mila, go away,” Viktor groaned, not meaning any of it, blushing all the while wanting to shove Mila into the ice.

Yuuri has always gone an extra mile to make sure Viktor was fine on competitions, and it only got more meticulous as it went on. At first, it was just his hair, then the gloves and costume, and now his skates. Sometimes Viktor wished they could do this in the dressing rooms, where no one else could see them.

Not that Viktor was ashamed, he’s delighted actually, but he was still getting used to what they had and he’d rather not have other people snooping.

Yuuri tapped his ankle gently. “Don’t be rude like that, Viktor.”

“I am not.”

Mila dramatically dropped to the seat next to him, her head leaning against Viktor’s shoulder. “This is so sweet and domestic, I can’t—” She elbowed Viktor lightly, grinning in approval. “I expect full coverage on this one, Vitya. Or else.”

Viktor felt himself smile. Maybe it wasn’t too bad, telling Mila. He liked that she knew about it, and if things were slightly different, Viktor was sure she’d be the first one he’d told anyway.

“Suppose I did tell you, uh, things...” Viktor squinted at her.

“Uh-huh.”

“This is just hypothetical.”

Mila pouted.

Viktor sighed. “Would you publish something relatively scandalous on social media?”

“I’m not sure,” She playfully shook her head so it was rubbing against Viktor’s shoulder, like an affectionate cat. “Maybe an Instagram post and a proposal to make a ship name or something.”

“What the fuck is a ship name?”

Yuuri snorted.

Viktor drew his attention to Yuuri, still busy checking Viktor’s blades, but looked like he was trying to hold back his amusement.

“I’m missing something again, am I?”

Mila laughed. “Relationship. Ship name, as in relationship name.”

“...but that’s stupid.”

“It’s not!” She began chewing at her lower lip thoughtfully, lost in her own thoughts. Knowing how Mila is, she probably won’t stop thinking about it until she had a proper ‘ship name’—whatever the fuck that was for.

Viktor still hadn’t gone to check any of his social media accounts yet, for fear that he might be receiving annoying questions he didn’t have the time to answer.

The day after Skate Canada, his twitter notifications exploded, so much that he had to log out of the app to keep his battery from draining. If Mila was going to start something relatively stupid, he was sure he’ll never log into his online accounts again.

Mila’s phone buzzed. Without moving, she reached down her pockets and began tapping at it. “Can’t blame me if I’m being overly-excited about my best friend finally getting laid for the right reasons,” she went on scrolling about, and as Viktor was beginning to forget about her weight on his shoulder, Mila shot up and began fanning herself. “Oh, that’s _perfect_!”

Christ.

“You posted something, didn’t you?” Viktor frowned.

“Well, not me,” Mila began tapping away, Viktor tried to look over her shoulder but she was already shoving the phone in front of Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri stared at the screen for a while, blinked, and then he laughed. Viktor was definitely missing something again and he had a strange feeling that the punchline involved him. Frown deepening, he snatched phone from Mila’s hands and looked at the screen.

It was an Instagram post—Phichit’s—and it was a photo of Viktor and Yuuri on the rink back in Detroit, Yuuri holding Viktor’s shoulder, guiding his body to position his arms correctly.

What caught Mila’s attention wasn’t the photo, but the caption. Filled with an obscene amount of emojis, it read: _Good luck to my boys competing today! #NHKtrophy #Japan #Viktuuri_

“Viktuuri?”

“Yes, Viktuuri,” Mila giggled. “Aw, this is so sweet. I wish I thought of that.”

Viktor groaned.

-

“Hey, Viktor,” Yuuri tapped Viktor’s knee as they were having lunch at the nearby restaurant. Viktor couldn’t stand what they served at the buffet the other skaters went to, so when Yuuri knew this, he immediately steered them toward a restaurant nearby. “You know you’re competing in Japan, right?”

“Yeah?”

Wasn't that obvious?

“You know this is my home country and they’re probably going to turn their attention toward me.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “Wow, I’ve never heard you sound so smug before.”

He had meant it as a joke, expecting the other to fire back something as witty. Yuuri, however, looked down and flushed. He looked rather hesitant, careful not to say anything stupid or something like that, although Viktor still didn’t have an idea what that thing was.

“You know what I mean, Viktor,” Yuuri groaned. “Just please—make sure you steal the show.”

“Okay.” Viktor replied quickly, not thinking even for a second. Wow, when had he become this weak for such a petty request?

“And earn a personal best.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri snorted, finding his confidence again. “And go get your reward.”

Though slightly surprised, Viktor found his bearings, and laughed. “Wouldn’t pass up the opportunity,” he smiled. “Not when my boyfriend’s offering something rather delectable in return.”

-

There was this guy called Emil Nikola.

Viktor didn’t get the significance of him except that the awfully annoying guy called JJ Leroy muttered something about Emil pulling off a quad loop. Viktor pulled out his earphones, pausing from his streches, and looked over to JJ. “I’m sorry, what?”

He had somewhat meant it to a be a passive insult, but apparently, JJ had a thick skin—or skull, depending on how you think about the guy. Seriously, he’s been at it this whole time and Viktor just wished the other didn’t get any ideas about talking to him.

However, Viktor’s supposed wit was quickly shot down when JJ walked over to Yuuri instead.

“Yuuri pulled that jump off once,” JJ grinned, ignoring Viktor altogether. “I think it was last year.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “I don’t remember.”

“Heh, always so humble _Yuuri-kun_. Though I really wanted to see the jump again,” JJ went on.

It was then that Viktor decided to avoid JJ like a plague. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from punching the guy in the face.

“I’m going to the locker room,” Viktor declared, addressing no one in particular. But Yuuri looked like he needed a way out, so there it was.

Yuuri did follow Viktor to the locker room, only to find Yura already there. Yura was looking down, a bit sombre than usual, fiddling with his phone in restlessness. Viktor went in to greet Yura, but he was ignored.

“Were you looking for the water bottle?” Yuuri asked, crossing the room to find their bags. He didn’t wait for Viktor to respond, just dug through the bags and gave him a water bottle.

When Viktor reached out to get it, Yuuri’s grip on the bottle tightened, eyes prompting Viktor to look at him. When he did, Yuuri jerked his head silently at Yura, who wasn’t facing either of them.

Viktor didn’t understand (like the idiot he was), so he mouthed, “ _What?_ ”

Yuuri frowned. “You wanted to stretch in peace, right? I’ll be outside.”

And then he was off.

Viktor stared at the closed door where Yuuri disappeared to for a while, still rather confused. It was silent inside the locker room, until Yura cleared his throat and said, “Did he steer you away from JJ?”

Oh. Had Yuuri meant for Viktor to talk to Yura?

“Uh, yeah,” Viktor gulped, still rather confused. “Aren’t you going to put on your skates?”

Yura snorted. “I’m waiting for my grandpa to contact me.”

_Right._

“Maybe you should get ready,” Viktor muttered. “You wouldn’t want to be late for the routine just in case his texts arrive late.”

“I don’t think the text’s late.”

Viktor fell silent for a moment, not knowing what to do.

“Katsuki put you up to this, didn’t he?” Yura began sifting through the contents on his bag, finding his skates.

“Uh—”

“Dumb choice,” Yura muttered. “If he’s your boyfriend, he should know by now that you’re no good with this.”

_Well._

“True,” Viktor began to pick at his own jacket, debating whether he should leave. “I’m not really sure what to say.”

“Of course, you are,” Yura continued to fumble with his skates, slipping his running shoes off. “But no thanks. The least you could do is go out there and work your ass off. Otherwise, I’d be pissed.”

And that was that. Viktor wasn’t very fond of these kinds of encounters, truly, so he decided to leave the locker room, hoping to fulfil what Yura had asked of him. He should be doing something else about it, but Viktor wasn’t used to that, so he’ll settle for not disappointing Yura for now.

“How did it go?” Yuuri asked, waiting by the door.

“Just about what you’d expect from me, I guess,” Viktor scrunched his nose. “You knew that, though.”

Yuuri sighed.

"Hey, don't be like that. You know I'm awkward."

“I heard from Mila that his grandpa’s not feeling well,” Yuuri said, looping his arm around Viktor’s. “Let’s get you prepared, yes? Michele’s almost done.”

-

The crowd did cheer for Yuuri.

They were chanting his name repeatedly, even as Viktor was preparing himself to get on the ice. Michel was already at the kiss and cry, waiting for his scores, and it won’t be long before Viktor started his own program.

Yuuri, though he looked slightly embarrassed, was waving at the crowd, and they cheered even louder as he did.

Feeling a bit ignored, Viktor reached for Yuuri’s tie, pulling him down.

Several gasps filled the arena, the chanting slowly dispersing in their shock. Viktor, encouraged and proud, leaned close to Yuuri, mouth near the other’s ear. “I’m dancing for you today.”

Yuuri huffed, devious and seductive. “You better be. Else, I’d feel really let down.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of that.”

Viktor didn’t know what he did. What he was thinking. What made him think.

Because one moment, he was on the centre of the rink, heart pounding hard—and the next, his routine was over, flowers showering him from the small little gifts thrown from the bleachers.

The crowd was so loud, louder than he had expected them to be, louder than they had been before.

He never knew he could just go through a routine like that and won’t know what he was doing. He never knew he could leave everything to his body and his body would move in ways that he wanted it to.

It must have been the crowd, it must have been to ice, he was not truly sure—whatever it was, Viktor felt exhilaration in his veins. Proud and content.

Viktor moved quickly, finding Yuuri already waiting for him at the corner, waving Viktor's skate guards around. So he _had_ done well, hadn't he?

“How was it?” Viktor asked, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Yuuri leaned in to kiss his cheek, quick yet affectionate, eyes sparkling. “Hmmm, I’m not too sure yet. Want to take a seat and find out?”

“Yuuuuri!”

Despite that, Viktor did follow after Yuuri, sat there. Mila was nearby, winking in approval. Yura was already on the rink side, looking sombre still, his face distant and searching. Viktor wandered if he should have done something more after all.

He did take care of Yura back in Russia, treated the other to lunch when Yura ran out of money. Yuuri knew about that too, so maybe he had expected Viktor to do something.

Viktor sighed. Nothing he could do about that now.

When his score was called, Viktor couldn’t even more shocked—a score of 109.2 points.

Holy shit.

-

Viktor had gone on to grab dinner with Mila, but Yuuri didn’t come along. He had a meeting over Skype, something to do with sponsorships and endorsements, and it would take quite long to get through it.

Yuuri didn’t want to at first, but Viktor had told him it was fine, they could grab dinner after the competition was over anyway. He made sure to remember bringing some food over to their hotel, so Yuuri wouldn’t go hungry that night.

Viktor finished second in the short program. To be honest, even though JJ was a piece of shit, he was good with technical stuff and had rabid fans that could rival even Yura’s. A four-point difference was a lot, but Yuuri didn’t say anything about Viktor coming in first, so the so-called reward was still on for that night.

Not the Viktor was overly-excited about it.

No, not at all.

“What are you thinking about?” Mila was hunched over the table, sipping at a smoothie. A nice, sweet smoothie Viktor wasn’t supposed to get. But Yuuri wasn’t there, and what he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him—or Viktor. Yes, it most definitely won’t hurt Viktor.

“How’s Yura?”

“Still hormonal,” Mila muttered. “Although his grandpa didn’t feel too good today, or so I heard. He did well, though? 97 points isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah,” Viktor tapped at the table worriedly. “I’m ordering something for him. I’m pretty sure he’s not eating again. Would you please give it to him later?”

Mila looked up, elbows comfortably leaning against the table.

She looked particularly feisty that day. Viktor did try to interrogate her about her day out with Sara, but he was shut down immediately. He guessed he’ll have to wait a while before Mila said anything about it. She’ll come along eventually, like she usually did.

“Ah, you still do look out for him,” she smiled.

“I hope you still are,” Viktor muttered, poking at his ramen. He seriously wanted something better like katsudon, but Yuuri has this thing where he thinks eating too much during the competition hampers the performance, so he wasn’t getting any of that. “I mean, in between Georgi’s musings and Yakov’s Spartan training, I’m guessing he’s a bit more pissed than usual.”

“You were the same.”

“Hey!” Viktor's chin shot up, offended. “I was a free spirit, Mila. I did what I wanted but I wasn’t hormonal or uptight.”

“You went to Berlin whilst drunk.”

“..but still,” Viktor muttered.

“That’s because you didn’t need to earn the money to compete, Vitya.”

Silence.

Mila’s eyes widened, as if realizing what she had just said, and began sputtering apologies.

Viktor waved at dismissive hand at her. It wasn’t like he was never used to Mila’s honesty. He rather liked that about her. “That’s okay,” Viktor whispered. “Has he noticed I’m wiring money over?”

Viktor’s been secretly sending money over to Russia while he was gone. He’d send them to Mila, just small amounts she used to ‘treat’ Yura to lunch whenever she sensed he wasn’t eating right again. Yakov had taken him in, provided dinner, but Yura most likely never said anything about not having enough for lunch. Other than Viktor, Mila was the one Yura was most comfortable with, no matter how he denied it.

“He hasn’t,” Mila’s face changed, a little more serious than usual. “You know, you could stop sending money over for a while. I still got lots set aside. It’ll be good for another two months.”

“Never mind that,” Viktor sighed. “I heard the cafe’s doing fine anyway, so I’m getting the money from that. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I could treat him myself sometimes, you know.”

“ _Mila_. Don’t worry about it.”

Mila looked like she was about to protest, but before she could say more, Viktor’s phone rang.

Viktor excused himself for a moment, checked the caller ID, and found that it was Mari.

Swallowing, Viktor answered the call. “Hello, Mari.”

“Viktor,” Mari’s tone was slightly off. Viktor had expected something like a sly tinge to it, probably teasing him about their very public displays on television again, but Mari sounded...worried. “Are you with Yuuri? He’s not picking up.”

Viktor looked over to Mila, who was grinning, but it faded as soon as she saw the expression on Viktor’s face.

“Uh, no. He’s having a Skype meeting over at the hotel. I’m bringing him take out, though. What happened?”

_‘What happened?’_ was definitely the kind of question Viktor didn’t expect himself asking. He’d most likely ask ‘why’ in times like those, but Mari sounded outright distressed, and Viktor could only guess there was something more to it.

“Um, Vicchan stole some pork buns when we weren’t looking and—uh, we’re at the vet now.”

Viktor shot up. “What?”

“We—we’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”

Several things flashed before Viktor’s eyes. One thing, however, stood out. It was the image of Yuuri’s apartment, Yuuri was alone, save for Vicchan by his side. Shit, shit, shit.

“Viktor.” Mari’s voice cut through his train of thoughts, suggesting that she might have said his name multiple times and Viktor hadn’t replied. “What—what does he want us to do?”

“I’ll go tell him,” Viktor said. “Text me if anything happens.”

Viktor went to get the waiter, paid for his and Mila’s dinner, and apologized to her gravely. Mila still looked stunned, but she didn’t ask anymore questions. Instead, she nodded and got up, managing to hail a taxi when Viktor was do distressed to do so.

Thank god for Mila Babicheva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you wanted to know the excuse I had, it's because I had my meds adjusted and I'm still getting used to the side effects. If you've read [Kaleidoscope](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10022228/chapters/22340042) you'll know what I mean. hah.
> 
> Anyway, tell me what you think.
> 
> And also, please forgive me! The posting schedule's back on track now. Even for [Silver Winters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10337136/chapters/22849340). Cheers!


	11. Stories and Cupcakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not giving anything away. ;)
> 
> Believe me, it's for your own good.

“Yuuri, you need to go,” Viktor rushed past Yuuri inside their hotel room all the while browsing his phone for the train schedules. If he were to be honest, he did trip multiple times, but that wasn’t too important right now. Yuuri couldn’t use the train at this hour, right? Can Yuuri take a plane? A ferry? Maybe they should hire a taxi to take him all the way to Hasetsu instead?

Yuuri was looking up at him with alarm, left dumbfounded, hand still on the doorknob. “Viktor, calm down,” He closed the door, voice soothing. He went to his laptop and closed it shut, the meeting apparently over. “What is it?”

“Here,” Viktor shoved his phone into Yuuri’s hand.

“What is this?” Yuuri frowned at the screen. “Train schedules? Did you forget something in Hasetsu? We can have Mari send it over.”

“No, no, no, Yuuri… Hold on,” Viktor was pacing back and forth now, not knowing how he should deliver the news. Most of his panic was mostly rooted on how Yuuri might react, and Viktor was worried he won’t be able to handle it well—that particular event in Canada spoke for itself, after all. “Your nee-chan called me a few minutes ago. Vicchan...well, he stole some pork buns and they’re at the vet. I don’t know the details.”

Yuuri went still, but only for a moment, then he was looking down on Viktor’s phone, eyes softening. “Can I call her back?” He raised it in front of him, seeking Viktor’s permission. And as Viktor nodded, Yuuri immediately dialled Mari, unconsciously pacing around the room.

He sat and listened idly. Not that he had much else to do.

Yuuri was speaking in Japanese, his tone strangely calm. Mari had told Viktor that Vicchan might not make it, so why was Yuuri not too worried? He was pacing about, yes, but not the way Viktor had expected him to. He didn’t know what to expect, in fact. He’s seen Yuuri break down the same way he’s seen him outwardly tease Viktor in public...so perhaps, Yuuri was kind of unpredictable.

Or maybe Yuuri was just normal, and Viktor was the one who didn’t know the proper way human beings react.

It took a few moments until Yuuri was seated on the bed next to Viktor again, returning the phone in silence. He looked a bit glum, eyes trailed on the tiled floor, mind running fast and confused. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Viktor looked up, jaw slack. “What?”

“You have a competition tomorrow,” Yuuri said, voice soft. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yuuri, what about Vicchan?”

Yuuri sighed. He looked a bit distracted for once, not fidgeting, but mind elsewhere. “We’ll go together as soon as the event’s over, Viktor. A train ride. It’s just for a day.”

Viktor sat there helplessly, and before he knew it, he was already speaking. “I can go compete in the Free Skate on my own,” he said, speaking fast, tongue tripping over itself. “Just go, Yuuri. You need to head back home.”

“Viktor, I can’t,” Yuuri cradled his face in his hands, and as Viktor took those hands in his, they were covered in sweat. How did he manage to keep his face straight? “It’s just one day, okay? We’ll leave immediately tomorrow night. Go shower.”

“But Yuuri…”

“Go take a shower, Viktor,” Yuuri commanded, finality in his tone.

But Viktor waited, anticipated for a change of mind, a more thorough consideration, but Yuuri was already standing up. Yuuri went to get something from their luggage, pulled out some night clothes, and handed them to Viktor. “As much as I want to give you a shower myself, I still need to call Mari. Rest up, okay? I’ll be back.”

And with that, Yuuri was out the door, swiping his carton of cigarettes on his way out.

-

That night, Yuuri tossed and turned on the bed. As much as he wanted to pull Yuuri close and embrace him, as he always did, Viktor felt like it’d be a form of intrusion. What a silly way to think, Viktor thought, but maybe he was starting to understand boundaries for the first time.

Boundaries in relationships to be exact, if that made any sense.

Tense situations such as this, after all, happened to be what he was most ignorant about. As soon as tension started to boil, Viktor would have left immediately, hoping that it would blow over and became easier to deal with once he came back. Usually, it worked out well.

So why does it feel different this time?

He needed to do something, somehow. He could face the Free Skate just fine, no question about that. The problem was whether he could convince Yuuri to leave or not.

Maybe if Viktor pushed him too far, it would end up with something Viktor’s going to regret. Yuuri’s going to feel shitty regardless of who he chose.

Viktor’s okay with it, being left alone to compete on his own, but Yuuri won’t—

“Viktor, I know you’re awake,” Yuuri muttered. “Go to sleep.”

Yuuri was still facing away from Viktor, an arm underneath his pillow, buried deep in the bundle of blankets. His voice was clear, strained, but no sign of sleep at all.

Viktor bit his lip.

Oh, what the hell.

However this turned out, as long as Yuuri chose to stay, it was going to be shitty anyway. Either they fight or the both of them were going to have to stay guilty and worried.

“What can I do to convince you to go?”

“Is that why you can’t sleep?”

“Yes.”

Silence. A very, very long one.

Yuuri shifted, only a little, clutching a pillow tighter toward him. “Go to sleep.”

Well, that worked.

He’s never been with someone for as long as he had with Yuuri, so maybe that was why Viktor felt slightly uncomfortable. He never had a brother or a sister he needed to adjust to, and most of his rebellious streak in puberty were all handled by Yakov in a way parents usually won’t.

Well, He couldn’t control Viktor even if Yakov tried—

And then, as if all the questions to the world’s mysteries have been answered, Viktor got up so fast he almost fell out of the bed.

“Stay here,” Viktor quickly raised a silencing finger as Yuuri was opening his mouth to say something. “I’ll be back.”

Barefoot, cold, and covered in thin hotel robes, Viktor ran across the hallway and got to the elevators, pressing random buttons multiple times (some he pressed accidentally in his hurry). He went down to the lower floors, walked briskly, almost bumping into a drunken couple making out in the hallway.

Viktor was forgetful, unsure if he remembered the right room (or the right floor), but he was a determined and was not beneath apologizing for waking someone this late in the night.

He knocked at the wrong door at first, had to say his apologies to some poor woman he didn’t know, before he was faced with the one he was looking for.

In front of him, was Yakov, looking extremely annoyed.

Without any prelude, Viktor put his hands on Yakov’s shoulders, and begged, “Can you please be my coach tomorrow, just for a day?”

-

It took a little convincing at first, before Yuuri gave up and packed his bags.

This, however, didn’t mean he didn’t act like a coach up until the very last minute. He demanded that Viktor slept, or at least lied down and stayed in bed. Viktor wouldn’t be able to do the first thing Yuuri asked of him, so he settled with lying down to watch Yuuri pack.

Yuuri didn’t pack his bags first, though.

The first thing he got out was Viktor’s gym bag, inspecting the contents, checking his skates, making sure that the costume was fine. And since it was in Yuuri’s nature to go the extra mile, he made a small checklist for Viktor, which were basically things he needed to have before morning practice, after that, and before the Free Skate.

“You know you often forget things, so don’t complain about it,” Yuuri muttered when Viktor told him it wasn’t necessary. “And I’m bringing the costume you used yesterday, too. That’ll be convenient when you finally get home, less stuff to pack or forget about. Do take a nap as much as you can, set as many alarms, and don’t eat too much. You know what happens to you when you eat too much...”

“Yuuri.”

“...and don’t rely on sports drinks to keep you awake, it’s going to leave you extremely tired after the effects start to wane off. Don’t try to overdo it in the morning practices, too. If you can help it,” Yuuri stepped away from Viktor’s gym bag and began to pack his own bags. “And be sure to tell Yakov if you think something’s wrong. If I’m not there to give you advice, ask him. I’m sure he’s more knowledgeable of your skating than I am.”

“ _Yuuri_.”

Finally, Yuuri looked up. “What was that?”

Viktor burrowed his face into the pillows for a moment, sighed, then sat up. “I know you’re my coach, Yuuri, and you’re worried about me,” Viktor reached out to take Yuuri’s hand, and led him to sit on the bed. “But you're my _boyfriend_ , too. Leave the coaching stuff and whatever worries you have to Yakov for now. I’ll be fine.”

Yuuri blinked up at him.

“Kiss me?” Viktor tried.

His face softened, shoulders relaxing, Yuuri smiled. He kissed Viktor deeply, bit his lower lip, enough to elicit a groan from Viktor.

Shit.

Perhaps, that wasn’t the best idea he’s had.

Yuuri threw his arms around Viktor, buried his nose in Viktor’s neck, his breath to the pulsing veins there. “Let’s postpone the reward later.”

Yeah. Definitely _not_ the best idea.

-

It was Yuuri’s birthday.

But no one broached the topic, even if Viktor really, really wanted to. Instead of excitedly planning what they were going to do in celebration, Yuuri was in front of Viktor, carrying his bags and ready to leave.

“Don’t forget to sleep while you can, you got it?” Yuuri pulled him close, embraced him tight. It was thirty minutes past three in the morning, far too early for Viktor to be doing anything—except think, maybe. “I already asked Mila to knock on your door regardless if you woke up in time or not.”

His chest tightened, almost feeling like there was something missing already, and Yuuri hadn’t even left yet.

When had Viktor turned this weak?

“Okay.”

“Call me when you can, okay? I don’t care how late it is, just call me.” Yuuri pulled away and kissed him on the cheek.

“Okay.”

Yuuri smiled a little, though he looked a bit worried. “Vitya, I’m serious.”

And that was that. Viktor had short-circuited. Full-on break down of all necessary bodily function, including the capacity to speak. He stared at Yuuri for what felt like a very, very long time, afraid that his voice might come out squeaky and pathetic.

Yuuri kissed him again, on the mouth this time, though it was quick as well. “I need to go,” he said. “I need to go before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Viktor said once more, like the idiot he is. “I’ll be home soon.”

And with that, Yuuri stepped out of the hotel doors, his silhouette fading out into the early dawn.

-

As it turned out, Yuuri was right about Mila needing to come in and wake him up. And the multiple alarms. And the freaking check list. Viktor was just out of the shower when he saw that Mila was still there, lying on the bed, browsing through her phone.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing right about now?” Viktor asked.

Mila gestured at her bag on the floor. “I’m ready to leave when you are.”

Groaning, Viktor went to check his luggage for his training gear, which weren’t there anymore. Instead, they were laid out neatly near the television. Under the table, he could see that fresh socks were tucked inside his running shoes. Viktor couldn’t help but sigh, both of relief and amusement—even if Yuuri wasn’t there, Viktor felt like he was being taken cared of.

“Would you want something other than the buffet for breakfast?” Viktor turned to Mila, who was more than willing to follow him out the next ramen shop.

When Viktor was done with breakfast, he went straight for the coffee machine and then to Yakov, who eyed the cup suspiciously. “Hasn’t Katsuki ever told you not to drink that?”

“On similar occasions, yes.”

Yakov sighed. “Vitya...”

“I haven’t slept.”

Viktor, in turn, received a curious stare. “Well,” Yakov’s eyebrows were rising, so high they might grow into his bald spot. “That’s new.”

“Isn’t it all?” Viktor shrugged, and went on to remove his skate guards, skating around the rink for warm-ups.

Yuuri had told him not to push himself too far at practice, as per usual request, and Viktor failed miserably.

Well, it wasn’t that he was trying _too_ hard. He would do a simple run through of his routine, sometimes his mind would wander, and the next thing he knew, he was skidding on his back. Sometimes, some other external factor would come in, like seeing JJ skate about and shouting stupid things, then Viktor would kick at the ice harder than he should be.

When the disastrous run-through was done, Viktor was rewarded with an endless monologue from Yakov. Yura was getting the same treatment too, so Viktor didn’t feel too bad. Although Viktor was more used to it, coolly accepting any corrections then shrugging it off, while Yura was muttering about then asked to do it one more time.

“Aw, I’ve never seen Yura this determined before!” Viktor grinned, making sure the other was hearing him.

“SHUT UP!” Yura shouted in return, but calmed down to start again.

-

That day, Viktor asked Yura to grab lunch with him.

He made it sound like an off-hand comment, something he usually did to make it seem casual and none too deliberate. Yura, however, gave him a death glare. Nevertheless, Viktor smiled, hoping for Yura to give in and come along.

It took too long.

Viktor was about to say something like, “I’ll treat you to a nice American-themed restaurant if you want that crap,” but Yura cleared his throat, silencing Viktor’s inner monologue.

Yura looked to him, face still contorted into a glare, and pointed at Viktor. “Okay, but choose somewhere cheap, I’m paying.”

Viktor blanched. This was not what he had hoped for. “No, I was—”

“Go change, Viktor,” Yura muttered, walking past him to the direction of the locker rooms. “Before I change my mind and eat at the shitty hotel buffet again.”

Viktor, had in fact, did not want Yura to pay for lunch. But maybe if he tried to trick him, come to the waiters and pay for it before the check came, Yura was going to hit him.

It’s never happened before, Yura hitting him, but that didn’t mean it was out of the question.

Viktor brought him to a small little barbecue place, a buffet style restaurant that allowed them to order as much as they wanted to for a fixed price.

He didn’t want to go in at first, looking at the menu and the prices from outside, but Yura seemed to have wanted to go there. Viktor had to watch what they were both eating, because if he didn’t, they were going to be in danger of falling into a food coma.

Yura, after all, was the kind of person who had a bottomless stomach. Or if he was like Viktor, a ruthless metabolism.

“I never knew you could grill vegetables like this,” Yura muttered, holding up a small corn, his chopsticks skewering the poor thing. “Japan is weird.”

He didn’t know what Yura said to Yakov for them to freely go like this, but Viktor was fairly certain their coach didn’t know about it.

That hypothesis was proven to be right when Yakov called in angrily, demanding that they say where they were.

Figuring Yakov might not be very pleased of what they were having for lunch, Viktor filled him in with a quick, “we’re at this nice Thai restaurant that only serves vegetables. Don’t worry about it, Yakov!”

There was no Thai restaurant within a five-mile radius of where they were, but Yakov didn’t have to know that. The meat in this place, after all, was worth it.

“I know what you’re doing,” Yura was staring at Viktor as he was putting his phone down. "Or you've been doing, I guess."

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re sending money over to Mila so she could ask me to lunch,” Yura muttered, death glare locked in on Viktor. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” He replied coolly.

“Stop acting like an idiot,” Yura’s voice raised to an octave, but only a little. “You know I don’t like it, but—yeah, thanks.”

Silence.

And as Viktor stared far too long, Yura looked down, his face scrunched up into a frown. “We never had this conversation,” he said. “But just keep in mind I’m not ungrateful and shit.”

Viktor grinned. “Oh, Yura! You do love me!”

“Ugh, disgusting!” Yura recoiled so fast his shoulders hit the back of the chair. “Go eat, you geezer. Or Yakov's gonna go scouring the country for us both.”

“Hmmm, the next thing I know, you’ll be sharing stories about a small little crush on someone, and that I can’t wait.”

“SHUT UP!”

-

Yura did wonderfully at the Free Skate. His score allowed him to jump to first place immediately, utterly destroying whatever record Viktor had for a Free Skate score. As Yura went on to celebrate his victory with Lilia at the kiss and cry, Yakov and Viktor were by the rink, not speaking to each other.

Yakov usually said something to Viktor before he went in to Skate, something none too important, something that would have annoyed Viktor before. But now, it felt like he needed any kind of useless statement to go on. Something like, “Vitya, don’t screw up,” or “You know what I said about the toe-loops”.

Shit, shit, shit.

Right, he needed a story. Something to do with the music.

But what the hell? He didn’t even know what the story was when Yuuri hasn’t even texted him since this morning. Wait, why was he thinking about that? No, no, no, he needed to focus, focus—

The music starts Viktor almost missed his cue.

Holy shit.

Fuck.

Hold on, this should have gone on easier than it would’ve.

Backtrack, you idiot.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Why was this song in Italian, anyway? Viktor didn’t know any Italian to begin with. How was he supposed to find a story there? Was it really possible to tell a story from a series of movements? From prancing about in the ice? Yuuri would have told him so, but to be honest, Viktor didn’t always understand.

Yuuri can be helplessly poetic despite his assholery, and Viktor wondered if that was it.

A combination jump, and he fucking popped the triple-triple to a double-single.

_Orsù finisco presto questo calice di vino_

_e inizio a prepararmi_

_Adesso fa’ silenzio_

Wait, wait. Stop thinking, you idiot.

You need to focus on recovering from that. How should he recover? Make up by increasing jump difficulty somewhere in the program. That would do.

 _“Don’t be afraid to bare your soul on the ice, Viktor Nikiforov,”_ Yuuri had told him, repeatedly.

What did that even mean? Yuuri, can you be anymore vague? Can’t you just tell Viktor which foot to correctly land on and which hand motions are best for a flying sit spin? What the fuck did you mean by a story?

A quad loop, double footed landing.

Shit.

Okay, fine a story. What story?

_Con una spada vorrei tagliare quelle gole che cantano d'amore_

_Vorrei serrare nel gelo le mani che scrivono quei versi d'ardente passione_

Was it the story of him coming to Hasetsu for the first time? Was that it? Viktor was fidgety, he didn’t know what to do or say, so that was crap, but then again it was the time where Yuuri asked him to be his boyfriend—

 _Ah_.

Maybe that was it. He didn’t need a story, but something to think about when he skated. Something to associate the music to while he moved on the ice. Is that it?

Biellmann spin, always flawless, or so Yuuri told him.

He needed to focus on the step sequences. What a shame would that be, when Yuuri Katsuki was his coach and his step sequences turned out to be shitty?

_Questa storia che senso non ha_

_Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle_

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità_

A double-triple turned into a triple-quad. There.

If Yakov had looked at him in dismay and face-palmed before (Viktor knew, he caught a glimpse), he didn’t see it anymore. And Yakov was—smiling? Wait, Yakov knew how to smile?

This was starting to get rather hilarious.

There’s an upcoming jump.

Viktor wasn’t particularly thinking, nor was he calculating any pros and cons of what he might needed to do. He was thinking of Yuuri instead—what would he do? Okay, shit. Bad example. Yuuri was perfect on the ice, he wasn’t going to screw up as much as Viktor did.

Doesn’t matter.

He took off, and landed perfectly. The Triple-double-single turned into a Triple-triple-single.

Good.

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

_Ho paura di perderti_

Step sequences.

A jump.

Viktor touched down.

Okay, shit. But that went better than he thought. Who adds a quad this late into the program anyway?

_Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_

_le mie mani, le mie gambe,_

_e i battiti del cuore_

_si fondono tra loro_

The music was sad. Why was it sad? Viktor wasn’t sad.

But Viktor was happy. Had he been this happy all his life? The answer to that was ‘no’, but he must have been happy at least once or twice. Alcohol fuelled that happiness. He’d feel like shit the next day, but who cares?

Yuuri did.

And again, for the second time that day, Viktor asked himself: _when was I this weak?_

_Partiamo insieme_

_Ora sono pronto_

He already knew the answer to that, didn't he?

-

Viktor came back to the hotel room much later than he expected. Or wanted to.

He spent most of the day fidgeting, worrying, and making a mess out of himself as Mila dragged him around establishment after establishment in search of a perfect gift for Yuuri’s birthday.

If there was one thing Viktor can do better than Yuuri, it was that he could dress himself properly. All these years that Viktor fawned over him, looking at every choice Yuuri made in his life like it was the perfect one, only to be told by Phichit that Yuuri was a horrible dresser.

Sure, Yuuri’d probably look amazing in nothing but rags, hell, he looked best in _nothing_ —but Viktor’s been told that he’d been relying on stylists too much. Maybe that’s what happened when you’re famous enough to get away with anything.

Jesus, the bed felt too large for him. When had he become so dependent? Whatever, he still hasn’t called, and it’s late. Maybe he shouldn’t disturb Yuuri when it’s eleven o’clock, but Viktor won’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t make this one call—

Before he could change his mind, he dug for his phone in his pocket, pressed the number assigned on speed-dial, and waited for Yuuri to answer.

He picked up on the first ring, and Viktor’s heart flipped.

“Congratulations!” Yuuri greeted over the phone, his voice cheery and proud.

Viktor snorted, feeling a little guilty. “I didn’t even land the podium.”

“Sure, you’ll pay for it soon enough,” Yuuri teased. Viktor, however, swallowed. He knew that wasn’t a lie. At all. “But you made it to the finals! Isn’t that amazing? Georgi, too!”

He couldn’t help but notice the excitement in Yuuri’s voice. Something that didn’t come too often. Something softer, something less seductive, and Viktor couldn’t help but imagine how Yuuri looked when he smiled—how his eyes would crinkle, his beautiful face bright, cheekbones more prominent.

How Viktor missed him this much and didn’t impulsively come to the train station and bribe someone to take him to Hasetsu—

“Yuuri, don’t sleep, okay?”

Silence.

“What?”

“Just don’t fall asleep yet,” Viktor jumped out of the bed, picking up everything in his path, stuffing them into his bags. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Viktor ended the call, threw the phone on the bed, and went to pack everything as fast as he can.

-

It was already past midnight when Viktor arrived at the onsen.

He paid the cab driver with enough money to book him a plane ride, and added an extra tip for asking the poor man to bring him all the way to Saga this late in the night. The cab driver, like most Japanese employees, didn’t want to accept the tip at first, so Viktor tucked it into the wad of bills instead.

He’ll find out about it far too late to complain.

Yuuri had warned him that people in Japan normally didn’t like receiving tips, but Viktor was stubborn.

The first to greet Viktor was Vicchan, alive and well, his tail wagging excitedly as he came. Mari was out of the house, face curious at first, then her eyes widened in surprise. Viktor put a finger to silence her, and as she calmed down a little, she made a zipping motion with her mouth.

“ _Okaa-san_ and _Otou-san_ are already asleep,” Mari muttered, as he helped him carry his bags to the receiving area. “What’s gotten into you? I thought you’d be here by tomorrow...”

Viktor winced. It wasn’t like he’d planned for this to happen. “Well...”

“Never mind,” Mari snorted. “Go get him.”

He waited for Mari disappear somewhere before Viktor opened a small pastry bag. He had the slightest feeling she was going to judge him if she saw, so it was better to be safe. He went to the kitchen to remedy some damage done to the cupcake’s icing, added a small little candle, and lit it.

Slowly, he made his way to the banquet hall turned bedroom, and knocked.

There was no sign of movement coming from the room at first, and then suddenly, there was rustling. Viktor sighed, slightly nervous and feeling a little too pathetic—and no, he has not dethroned Georgi the sap king yet. No, not ever.

As Yuuri opened the sliding door, his face was priceless.

He was looking at Viktor too long, long enough that Viktor feared the candle was going to run out soon. Yuuri’s mouth opened, only a little, surprise evident in his widened eyes. “How—are you—how did you get here?”

Viktor kissed him, unable to resist, just a quick one, with a slight flick of his tongue over Yuuri’s lower lip, and pulled back again. He raised the small cupcake in his hands, looking a bit better now that the lights were dim, and he said, “Happy birthday?”

Yuuri was suddenly in tears, streaming endlessly.

Still holding the cupcake, Viktor smiled. “You know, the candle’s going to run out soon, so if you could just—”

All else happened so fast. Yuuri blew at the candle, took the cupcake from his hands, and the next thing he knew, he was being shoved against the wall. Yuuri was kissing him, hard—all teeth and spit and heavy breathing. “Goddammit, how are you this pretty even in the dark?”

Viktor shivered, Yuuri’s hands moving everywhere, his touch hot and heavy, leaving trails of pleasure wherever they went. He recovered from the shock of it fast, his palms going to Yuuri’s chest, pushing him back unto the foot of the bed. He broke the kiss briefly to shove Yuuri down the mattress, then he was on top of him, nipping at his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

He tasted like he usually did. He smelled the same way Viktor remembered. And oh, Viktor was getting used to the comfort of his familiarity, revelled in it. Viktor wondered if he was ever going to live without it.

Yuuri wrapped his thighs around Viktor’s waist, and with impressive strength, he flips them over, leaving Viktor breathless beneath him. Yuuri’s lips, still lingering on top of his, curled into a mischievous smile. “I’m guessing you’re here early for your reward?”

Viktor gasped against Yuuri’s kisses, growing rougher, more desperate. Slowly, they began removing one item of clothing after the other, until they were both in their boxers, their growing erections rubbing at each other delightfully—but not _enough_.

Yuuri seems to take the hint, moving down slowly. He kissed Viktor’s jaw at first, nipped at his neck, sucked at his collarbone. Lower, lower, down his chest, unto his nipples, down his abs. As Yuuri kissed his navel, he began sucking at the skin there, hard enough to leave a mark.

He left a trail of red marks as he continued downwards, lower, and lower, and as Yuuri’s mouth was just above his crotch, Viktor reached down to remove his boxers. Yuuri caught his hand, pinning it at his side, restricting movement. As Viktor looked down, he almost lost it. Yuuri was looking up at him, eyes fluttering slightly, and without breaking eye-contact, he licked along the clothed length of Viktor’s cock.

Holy motherfucking shit.

Viktor had to close his eyes to regain control, because Jesus, that was so hot. Yuuri proceeded to suck him through the fabric, his spit dampening the material, his breath so warm and welcoming Viktor’s cock throbbed.

Yuuri did that for a while, sometimes coming back up to Viktor’s waist to leave even more marks there, a galaxy and reddening spots. Then his hands went to Viktor’s waistband, pulled it down, and freed Viktor’s aching length. Yuuri didn’t stop to look at him, didn’t say anything for once, and went to leave a trail of feather-light kisses on the shaft, gentle, teasing.

It felt _so_ good, but it wasn’t enough, not at all.

Viktor was about to beg for mercy, willing to do anything to be relieved of the teasing, when Yuuri deliberately took all of him into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Viktor threw his head back, his toes curling against the sheets, his eyes shutting involuntarily. “Yuuri, I—”

 _Smack_.

He blinked, confused at first. Viktor looked down on his thighs, reddening from Yuuri’s palms, and then, he saw Yuuri looking at him.

“The walls are thin, Viktor. Please control yourself.”

Holy shit.

“Do you understand?”

Viktor blinked, and then he nodded helplessly. “I—okay,” he huffed, breathing heavy. “But feel free to do that again.”

Yuuri smirked, and went back down to suck at the shaft thoughtfully, his hand wandering, his tongue swirling around the length of Viktor’s cock comfortably. Viktor begged, more, more friction, keeping his voice as low as he could, but Yuuri kept torturing him, bringing him to the edge then stopping suddenly, then did it again.

And again.

And again.

“Get something for me?”

Viktor had to pause, blinking, heaving heavily. “What is it?”

“The paper bag beside you,” Yuuri said.

He didn’t think even begin to think about much else, reached for the paper bag, failing twice before he finally grabbed it. He tossed it down, aim compromised, wasn’t even sure if Yuuri got it. Viktor’s eyes stayed closed. He was trying to compose himself, trying to keep himself from fucking into his fist and finish the job himself, and then his mind blared again as soon as he heard the familiar clicking sound of a bottle being opened.

Viktor waited for it. Waited for Yuuri to prod into him, he was more than ready, he needed it—

Yuuri groaned.

Viktor looked down, and almost came right then and there. Yuuri was kneeling, his weight supported by his strong legs (Viktor always did like his legs), one hand stroking himself, and the other, behind him. By the blissed out look on his face, Viktor already knew what the unseen hand was doing.

He tried to sit up, tried to touch Yuuri, but he was being pushed back down unto the bed as quickly as his mind was running. “No, I— _ah_ —let me do it.”

Yuuri’s breath was starting to get ragged, fast and breathy, eyes fluttering shut. He was hunched over Viktor, sweat dripping from his forehead, and sweet gods somebody tell Viktor he wasn’t dreaming. Yuuri fucking Katsuki, five time and defending World Ice Skating Champion, was hunched over Viktor while fingering himself.

The sounds Yuuri was making were quiet sobs and low growls, if he spoke or swore, it was an octave lower than usual. And it was—

Yuuri pulled away, grabbing the bottle from where it lay on the mattress, rolled a condom on Viktor’s aching cock, and was slicking him up with a generous amount of lubricant. Yuuri’s touch alone had Viktor shivering, biting his lower lip so hard he was sure they’d bleed, and the next thing he knew, Yuuri was on top of him again.

Viktor sought refuge in grasping Yuuri’s waist, fingers clasping hard, and watched as Yuuri slowly lowered himself unto Viktor’s cock.

If everyone had been sleeping at this hour, well, not anymore.

 _Smack_. “You really can’t control yourself, can you?”

Viktor, still panting, smirked.

“No,” he dug his fingernails into Yuuri’s hips, eliciting an even louder groan. “No, I don’t think so.”

And something broke inside Yuuri. He put his hands on Viktor’s chest, adjusted his feet, and began to ride.

Nothing— _absolutely_ nothing, had stopped any of them from being too loud that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this took so long to update again and I'm sorry! (dogeza position)
> 
> I was trying to figure out how to properly deliver Viktor's inner monologues because you all know the guy doesn't give a flying fuck, right? Not an excuse for me lateness, but forgive meeeeeeeee.
> 
> How's this? I personally admit that I can't write smut for shit, so...


	12. Round and Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know what happens here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been drunk three times this week.  
> No, those aren't song lyrics.  
> Also, did the same the week before that.
> 
> I'm also hungover right now. Sorry.  
> So, this might not turn out the way I want because of that.

Yuuri woke up realizing three things—one, was that Viktor was behind him, one arm draped across his waist. Two, he hadn’t slept for very long until the harsh, bright sunlight assaulted him. And lastly, they had forgotten to close the door to the banquet room last night.

He wouldn’t have known this, if he didn’t see Mari standing by the doorway, looking rather pissed. Or curious. Or plotting something diabolical. He didn’t really know anymore.

Right.

From where he was lying, he raised his head off the pillow, and blinked at her. This was not how he wanted his morning to go. Feeling a bit annoyed (and already guessing how the next few seconds of interaction would turn out), he frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“The door was open so I _had_ to at least take a peak,” Mari snorted. She wasn’t carrying anything, not food or robes or something like that, so she didn’t have any useful business to be there. But this was his sister, so it’s not all that surprising anymore. “I’ve been kept awake all night and I seek closure. Not that I didn’t already know the answer to that, but still—”

“Nee-chan,” Yuuri buried his head back into the pillows. He felt slightly embarrassed now. Slightly. “Get out.”

“So, what did you do with the cupcake? Hmmm?”

Without looking up, he swore. “Oh my fucking god!”

“I think one of you said that last night.”

“Mari.”

“Also, did you use protection? I know you really care about him and stuff...”

“Shut up.”

“...But I think it’s good if you both get tested first, you know, just in case...”

Yuuri groaned louder, wishing she’d disappear, but Mari wasn’t stopping. Or disappearing into thin air. He wasn’t dreaming up this current embarrassing situation, then.

“...I’m sure it won’t offend him if you asked.”

“Seriously,” Yuuri muttered. “Get. Out.”

Mari let out a small laugh, sounding like she had attempted to hold it but failed. “Okay, then. But okaa-san’s coming in to give Viktor some robes in about—” she pretended to check an imaginary watch on her wrist. “Ten minutes? Not too sure. But she is scouring the cabinets as we speak—”

Understandably pissed, Yuuri grabbed the pillow under his head and threw it into the general direction of the door. “Get out!”

Mari laughed and stepped away, not bothering to slide the door close.

Great. That’s where most of the light was coming from and it was so bright out. There was no lock on the fucking door and his mother would be there soon. He had wanted to sleep a little longer but he was hungry and dehydrated, trapped in Viktor’s embrace, and most likely to face more awkwardness if he didn’t move soon.

Yuuri groaned and buried his face back unto the bed. He didn’t even have a pillow anymore.

He’s never really brought anyone home before, not when he’s hardly home himself, but still. One moment, Yuuri was single and living away from them, and then he was treating them to the sound of fucking the next—all that was very new to his family.

He’s not sure how he’ll explain it to them. Maybe he didn’t need to and he’ll have to suffer through a day’s worth of embarrassing jabs to his loudness. Maybe he’ll try to avoid talking to his parents until they were right about to leave for Barcelona. Maybe he could bring Viktor on a dinner date and avoid having to face Mari again.

Nevertheless, it was almost noon and he hadn’t eaten anything since he came home from the animal hospital. Well, if you wanted to count the cupcake he ate last night, it wasn’t really for...let’s just say,  _consuming_ for the sake of filling oneself.

Viktor did have the sex stamina of a raging bull, after all. It was that, or Yuuri was getting old—although he won’t tell Viktor that. Not really. Not ever. There’s always a ‘maybe’ there somewhere.

Yuuri wriggled out of Viktor, just enough to turn around and face him. “Hey,” he said, kissing the other’s cheek gently. “Hey, wake up.”

Viktor groaned, eyebrows drawing closer. How dare he look irritated.

No matter.

“Vitya...”

Upon hearing the name, his eyes fluttered open.

Bingo.

As per usual, Viktor never did what Yuuri wanted him to. Instead, he pulled Yuuri closer, enough to restrain movement, and made a sound that was close to a whimper.

He smelled like Yuuri’s favourite perfume, his hair giving off a pleasant mix of sweat and citrus, the scent of him all too familiar now. They’ve been sharing quite a few things lately, crossed over the line of intimate domesticity a long time ago, keeping the other in mind whenever any of them went to get groceries.

It was slightly silly for Yuuri to think that way. His life was considerably complete when Viktor came in, wasn’t it? He had friends, a best friend, a nice coach, and the ice. His fans were there too, albeit a little too nosy for his liking but still.

Seeing Viktor, however, has made things slightly different. He wanted to sleep with him the first time he’s ever laid his eyes on Viktor (and still enjoys having to think about it every day), but soon after, it changed. He couldn’t point out the exact changes, not when he’s been living with the other for months, but maybe that’s what he hadn’t given much thought about in the last twenty years of his life.

Viktor’s hair was growing a bit too long, enough to reach his collar, silvery strands rumpled and messy. Yuuri never had a sudden need to commit something as trivial as that to memory before. The ice was where he poured all his time and dedication, his best moments usually involved being on it—but now, he was making memories on the beaches, the parties, the hot springs.

He loved skating, cannot remember ever being without it, but now, he was making memories outside of the ice too.

Yuuri waited for Viktor to say something, but instead, he started to snore.

What a way to ruin his romantic, internal monologue.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri tapped his face. “Wake up.”

“Hmmm?”

“Wake up,” Yuuri said. “It’s late.”

Viktor adjusted his position on the bed, only to pull Yuuri even closer. “Don’t wannaaaaaaa,” he whined. “I want to stay in bed all day.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Can you just—”

Viktor climbed on top of Yuuri, pinning him against the bed. He buried his nose on the crook of Yuuri’s neck, and hummed contentedly. “I’m jet-lagged.” He rubbed his face into Yuuri adorably—or pathetically, Yuuri can’t decide. “My Yuuri doesn’t care if his boyfriend is tired.”

“Yes but the said boyfriend has to let me eat lunch at least,” Yuuri muttered, kissing the top of his head. “I’m starving.”

“Give me ten seconds,” he said, kissing Yuuri’s bare shoulder. “Ten seconds and I’ll get up.”

“And get dressed.”

Viktor groaned. “Is that necessary? Can I just take a bath in the hot springs and sleep there?”

“Do you want to walk around naked in front of my parents?” Yuuri started rubbing circles on his back. “I think they like you, Vitya. So please don’t ruin it.”

“No, but isn’t Japan like, I don’t know, immune to nakedness or something?”

“We don’t have—”

There was rustling by the door.

And oh, did he mention that Mari didn’t bother closing it earlier?

Viktor shot up, rolling off Yuuri as fast as he could, fully awake now. He was suddenly rigid, as if someone had found his remote and put him on pause—and he was gaping at Yuuri’s mother while in bed with her son.

Oh, fuck.

Yuuri’s okaa-san was by the doorway, looking rather happy, carrying some familiar green robes usually worn by costumers. She was beaming for a bit, and then her smile faded really slowly, eyes widening in the process.

“Oh dear, I—shit—um, no, I shouldn’t have cursed...the fuck, shit. I mean—” Viktor was stammering, looking from Yuuri to Hiroko, the skin from his hairline down to his chest reddening.

He stammered multiple times, in three different languages, and tried to apologize to each and every swear word that came out of his mouth. If that hadn’t been hilarious enough, Viktor’s face definitely did it for Yuuri, which looked like Viktor wanted to melt to the ground.

Almost in unison, Yuuri and his okaa-san laughed.

“I’m sorry for barging in this early,” Hiroko said, giggling. She looked to Yuuri with an approving smile, walking over to the dresser and depositing the garments. “I’ll leave these here. Lunch in ten, okay?” She looked to Yuuri. “Be glad your otou-san sleeps like a rock, otherwise he wouldn’t have let either of you live it down.”

Yuuri was still chuckling when she was out the door, sliding it closed this time. Mari, the sneaky piece of shit, must have intentionally left it open. No matter, it was funny and his otou-san was spared. Nothing could have diffused the situation any better.

Viktor, however, stayed silent. His hands were clutching at the sheets, looking like he was deciding on whether to cover himself more or just run away naked and never look back.

-

Viktor was doing multiple jumps in the last few minutes. In succession. Falling more than half of the time.

This, however, was not unusual—save for the fact that it was Viktor who insisted on repeatedly executing the jumps until he’d be able to perfect them. He was making progress, landing two out of the ten quad flips he attempted, but not enough considering what little time they had before the finals.

“Pop your jumps and don’t take the fall! We’re just practicing!” Yuuri called out. Viktor’s been pushing it with the quads, forcing himself to get the rotations in even when he screws up at take-off. It wouldn’t be of much use if he got himself injured, after all.

Yuuri didn’t exactly know what to feel about this. He never expected—no matter how harsh it sounded—for Viktor to be motivated on his own.

“Your triples are looking good!” he called out again. Yuuri’s gotten so used to teasing Viktor’s incompetence that it felt weird to be consciously thinking about encouraging him. Viktor’s triples were fine, amazingly polished even, but that wasn’t stopping him for doing them again and again.

To be fair, Yuuri has never seen raw talent quite like it. Viktor was a child prodigy to begin with, winning golds at fifteen. That was around the same age Yuuri had been when he started to gain national attention, but even Yuuri wasn’t getting gold medals up until he was eighteen. So the problem wasn’t talent—not at all—not when Viktor was brimming with it.

There’s always the issue of motivation, and the fact that he hasn’t poured his heart into practice all that well. Plus the fact that Viktor can get side-tracked by a lot of things, like wanting to own a coffee shop.

“Viktor,” Yuuri winced as he looked to Viktor again, falling from yet another bad landing. “Water break.”

Viktor looked up, hesitated, then skated toward the edge of the rink. Though he often insisted on extra practice, he listened whenever Yuuri said anything. So if Yuuri wanted him to rest, he would. Once he’s done with the ten minutes of catching his breath, though, he’s back on the ice soon after.

“I thought I could manage a few more,” Viktor panted, leaning against Yuuri as he bent to slip on his skate guards. “And here I thought you’d be a slave driver.”

Yuuri felt the corner of his lips twitch into an involuntary smile—so much for keeping their rink environment professional. He pulled out a towel and used it to wipe the sweat off of Viktor’s face, checking his breathing for any signs of excessive fatigue. “Maybe I got through that thick head of yours and you’re finally working hard on your own.”

“Or you’ve just gotten soft.”

He snorted, but felt his chest lighten up a little. “Maybe,” he said. “But if you’re falling this often, I’m going to die of a heart attack by the end of practice.”

“Aw,” Viktor rubbed his nose against Yuuri’s, slightly sweaty, but endearing all the same. “Wouldn’t want that to happen now, do we?”

If Yuuri was going to be honest, the thing that happened a few months ago was a series of bad decision-making and the lack of impulse control.

First, Yuuri saw Viktor for the first time and thought that he was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Next, Viktor stole his heart after one dance, promising to see Yuuri again when he could. And now, well—he knew Viktor was an alcoholic genius who lost faith in his own abilities, a textbook example of self-destructiveness, a hot mess still trying to figure out how it is to be an adult, and a defiant student who never listened to what his coach said.

Yuuri knew of his imperfections more than anyone, dealt with them first-hand, and he’s even had trouble dealing with them due to his own mishaps.

And yet, he wouldn’t trade any of those imperfections for anything, even if given multiple chances to.

“How many times have you attempted the quad flip?” Not like he needed to ask, but looking down to where Viktor was slumped on the floor with his back to the half-wall, he felt like he needed to. He didn’t want it to sound like he was reprimanding him, so he sought ways to make Viktor realize them on his own. “I know you’ve got pretty good stamina, but don’t overdo it, okay?”

Yuuri wasn't good at this, at relationships, that is. Romantic or in general.

“Hey,” Viktor sat back a little, closing his eyes a bit. “Do you trust me?”

Yuuri frowned. He knew that look. That’s the kind of expression Viktor had on his face whenever he was about to suggest something outrageous. “You know I do.”

“Can we still add the quad flip?”

Viktor, who had never shown any interest in winning, was asking Yuuri to add a quad into his already-impressive routine. Viktor, whom didn’t think himself worthy of a medal, was asking his coach to increase the difficulty of his programs.

Still, no matter how elated this made him, Yuuri felt slightly nervous. “But you hardly landed them in practice...”

“Just the short program,” Viktor looked to him, tone slightly insistent, his reply hurried. “Even if I perfectly land my jumps and get the highest possible presentation score, it won’t be enough to beat JJ in the competition. He’s probably going to add a few things in the Finals...You want that, don’t you?”

“I—”

“But of course, you don’t have to let me if you think I’m not ready. It’s just—”

Yuuri cut him off by pulling him into an embrace. “That,” Yuuri muttered in his ear. “I would love that.”

Viktor was suddenly still beneath Yuuri’s touch, a little surprised, but as soon as the momentary shock receded, Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri and returned the embrace. He kissed Yuuri on the cheek, on his temple, then his lips were pressed close to Yuuri’s ear. “Thank you. Thank you. It’s all for you,” Viktor’s breath was hot and laboured from the practice, and yet—

“God, I love you, Yuuri.”

There was a moment there where Yuuri failed to understand, his brain stuttered, reloaded, and went blank. Viktor too, Yuuri noticed, had become very, very still. And, as if he had been electrocuted, Viktor pulled back a little, though his arms never left where they held Yuuri.

“I—” Viktor's eyes were a little panicked, a little confused. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t—I never mean to impose anything. You can—you can—”

Yuuri’s heart broke. Not trusting himself to find the right words, Yuuri caught Viktor’s lips in his. The kiss was lingering, not too deep, but sweet no matter.

Viktor was stiff at first, responding late to the kiss, but as they kept going, he began kissing Yuuri back. He took Yuuri’s lower lip and sucked on it, far too sloppy and far too loud, but none of that mattered. Not at all.

“I love you too,” Yuuri whispered in between kisses, repeatedly, passionately. Enough that he knew it was going to get through Viktor’s thick skull. “You don’t need to ask for it, you idiot.”

-

Barcelona was one of Yuuri’s favourite places. It was one he’d go to be it a hosting venue for a competition or not.

He loved the people as much as he loved the architecture and the histories, something about the general ambiance of it warm and welcoming. He loved how he could easily walk around with Viktor, hold his hand, and not having to wonder whether people stared. Yuuri knew for a fact that people turn a blind eye whenever he was in Japan. He was famous, a national asset, with a following ready to pounce on anyone who ridiculed him for being queer.

Being in more open environments meant that Viktor was also happily expressing himself whenever he was with Yuuri, often kissing the other while they were dining in restaurants or buying cheap street food (only a little for Viktor because he was competing). Those were things they couldn't freely do in Russia as well.

Viktor had wonderful fans back in Russia, they've been supporting him all through his career, but there were haters, too. Some homophobic, some just jealous girls who were disappointed their little pretty boy was off the market.

He was more than a pretty face, Yuuri knew it, and he would gladly rub it in. Let all the delusional men and women cry, he thought.

That aside, Yuuri enjoyed their stay like he was going on a vacation. Viktor, however, might be a little more overwhelmed.

“No, Viktor. For the last time, I don’t want to go to the pool,” He frowned, assessing the situation that was Viktor’s skin-tight swim trunks. “You’ll freeze to death.”

“Jokes on you, I’m Russian,” Viktor grinned. “Come on, it’s like six and we haven’t done anything since yesterday. Phichit’s not coming until tomorrow so I only have you.”

“Wow,” Yuuri deadpanned. “I never felt so wanted.”

Viktor pouted. It was adorable the first few times, but now it’s just mildly pathetic. One hand was pulling at Yuuri’s sweater, to keep him from falling back unto the bed, the other clutching a pair of swimming trunks. “Come on, boyfriend. I want a dip.”

“The boyfriend did not bring that _thing_ with him to Barcelona,” he pointed at the weird spandex-looking material that he was supposed to wear. “Don’t you have anything...less vulgar?”

“Oh,” Viktor’s eyes lit up. “Did you want to come with me, after all?”

“If it shuts you up, why not?”

“No one’s going to be there,” Viktor said. “It wouldn’t even matter if you went naked.”

“Telling me no one’s going to be there is not helping your case,” Yuuri muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jesus, it’s like dating a ten-year-old. “It’s December, Vitya. It’s fucking Winter in fucking Europe. This is not Cancun.”

Viktor rolled his eyes heaven-ward. “If you’re not coming, I’m getting out of here naked.”

“I’ll let you.”

“Try me.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, expecting Viktor to back down. But no, this was Viktor Nikiforov we’re talking about, so of course, he stripped off his swimming trunks, his dick in all it’s glory, and began to walk toward the door.

Yuuri kept his feet planted on the carpeted floor.

Viktor kept walking.

Yuuri’s eye twitched.

Viktor’s hand went to the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door to a crack—

“Okay, fine! Jesus.”

Viktor slammed the door shut. “Fuck,” he muttered. “For a moment there, I thought you were going to let me do it.”

Yuuri grabbed the swim trunks Viktor divested himself of and threw it at his face. “Go wear something.”

He was starting to question in his capability to discern the proper qualities of a sane boyfriend. Nevertheless, Yuuri was aware of the fact that there was no stopping this stupidity, so he’d much rather come and watch so Viktor doesn’t unexpectedly die of hypothermia.

“I am not just about to announce dating you over to the press after you’re dick’s been out for everyone to see...” He paused, realizing what he had just said a bit too late. “I do really care about what the press thinks.”

“Oh.” Viktor muttered. He looked fairly touched it was hilarious. “You know, I don’t mind getting my rep muddled by the press, but if you think I should—

Yuuri raised a hand. “I just meant your dick. I don’t want people to see.”

Viktor blinked.

A pause.

“Yuuuuuri!” Viktor whined. "I didn't know you just liked me for my body."

Yuuri snorted. "That wouldn't be a lie, not exactly."

That had been the last straw, apparently, because the next thing he knew he was being shoved out of the door.

Devoid of a robe and just in swim trunks.

-

Holy shit was it cold.

At first, Yuuri kept to the sides, dipping his toes tentatively as Viktor jumped into a pool like an annoying cannonball. Yuuri managed to avoid being splattered by the ice-cold water for a while, but Viktor had other ideas.

As soon as he let his guard down, Viktor’s arms were around him, and then he was falling into the cold depths of chlorine.

“Viktor!” Yuuri spat water irritably, shaking the his head. Blind as a bat, he looked around for his glasses, but moments later, Viktor was already slipping them back on.

“Of course, I’d remove them before I dragged you in. Don’t want to lose an arm.” Still laughing, Viktor—the bastard—threw his arms around Yuuri. He completed the inescapable prison of his making by wrapping his legs around Yuuri’s waist, immobilizing his poor coach like an immature barnacle. “How’s that? You can have my body heat.”

“Cool,” Yuuri said. “At this rate, my balls will shrink like dried prunes.”

“Ew,” Viktor snorted. “You have a weird sense of imagery.”

“I say what I feel.”

“After all the great literary pieces my Yuuri has read, he still couldn’t get the metaphors right,” Viktor kissed his collarbone and buried his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, lightly rubbing his nose against the damp skin. They stayed like that for a while, mostly because Yuuri found resistance to be useless at this point. “Don’t tell me you’re pissed.”

“I might be.”

“Yes, but you love me.”

And just like that, all the irritation had melted away like snow on a summer day.

Which was strange, because if Yuuri were a (terrible) poet, he’d allude Viktor Nikiforov to cold winters. Not the ones that he hated, but particular winter days that were quiet, with gentle snowflakes that dusted the meadows.

He can be an inconvenience, he can be very cold, but there was no denying that he was beautiful.

“What’s your favourite season?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor hummed into Yuuri’s skin, trailing soft kisses along his neck. “I always loved the winter,” he said. “The lake behind my childhood home would freeze over.”

“And that’s where you started to skate?”

“Just once.”

“Once?”

He kissed Yuuri’s temple, lips cold but comforting. Definitely like the winter. “Because apparently, the surface isn’t perfectly even...and I got a nosebleed.” Viktor paused for a moment and chuckled. “Actually, I broke my nose _and_ got a nosebleed because of it.”

Yuuri laughed, hands coming up to rub circles on Viktor’s back. “And why did you continue?”

“Because I saw you on television,” Viktor said, voice a bit hesitant. “You were, what? Eleven?”

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri pulled back a little, making sure to look into Viktor’s eyes. “Are you telling me that you’ve been a long time fan?”

“Definitely,” Viktor grinned. “If there was a Yuuri Katsuki official fan club, my membership number would have two digits at most.”

“Oh? Not a single digit?” Yuuri’s hands went up to his face, cupping Viktor’s jaw.

“You have your family,” Viktor smiled. “I’d fight them for membership number 00001, but I’ve met them. And I like them.”

Yuuri kissed his jaw, a light one, almost a peck. “Ah, well that’s okay.”

“How about yours?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s your favourite season?”

“Winter, of course,” Yuuri kissed him on the lips, long and gentle. “And the reason for it changes sometimes.”

“That’s,” Viktor raised an eyebrow. “That’s weirdly poetic.”

And that, is how you ruin the moment.

Yuuri slapped him on the arm, but as per usual, it was gentle. “Thanks.”

“Huh,” Viktor’s eyes turned to slits. “Were you just about to go full-on ‘ _the winter reminds me of you_ ’ or something? Because Yuuri, that would be so—”

Yuuri pushed him under the water.

-

Viktor was slightly tense at the rink the next day.

It was understandable, with the competition just a day away, and Yuuri had his fair share of nervousness all through his skating career. What made it worse, however, was the fact that it hasn’t changed when Yuuri took up coaching.

So when Viktor decided he was going to stop being the calm one between the two of them, Yuuri was scared that it would eventually turn to chaos.

He’s been watching Viktor in between smoke breaks. At least the tension went away a little as he did so, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay standing up until the end of the scheduled practices.

“You’re doing great,” Yuuri held on to Viktor as he was slipping on his skate guards. “So? Do you want to go back to the hotel? I recommend sleep and rest and room service. None of the cake you’ve been begging me to get you, of course.”

Viktor looked slightly horrified. “Do you want me to get bed sores right before competition?” He muttered, shifting his weight on the other foot and got the second skate guard from Yuuri. “It’s my first time in Barcelona. Take me on a date or something!”

Yuuri laughed, rubbing his face with a towel playfully. “Alright,” he said. “No one’s ever asked me out like this before.”

“Ah, well. You always did like surprises,” Viktor said.

-

Yuuri never did like shopping.

There must have been a reason why fate has brought him someone like Viktor, who dragged Yuuri around shops in Barcelona with the intent of going bankrupt in one day. Yuuri probably did something horrible while alive in the Roman empire or whatever past life it was.

Sure, they had lunch and went sight-seeing, but when they ran out places to go to, Viktor found something he wanted to buy (was it a shirt? Yuuri couldn’t remember anymore) and it went downhill from there.

Viktor doesn’t tire from running around and impulsively buying things. Sometimes he found something he liked, buys it, then sees something useless and gets it too. They still haven’t reached the point in their relationship where they discussed shared finances, but Yuuri was pretty sure this would come up soon.

Spending a lot of money was one thing, but Viktor also liked window shopping, which meant half of the stores they went to were just actually random establishments for them to walk around in before leaving for another one.

“Let’s get you a suit,” Viktor declared, looking up at the clear Barcelona skies as Yuuri sat on a bench.

“What?”

“You have horrible suits.”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Yuuri huffed, still out of breath. “I’ve been told Karl Lagerfeld is something.”

“Like you know what that even means,” Viktor cocked an eyebrow. “I know that you wear your best ones, which I might add are only because Phichit chose them for you, and you have tons of them sitting in the closet because a.) Phichit thinks they’re revolting, b.) I think they’re revolting, and c.) weird designers made them for you as promotional material.”

"You said I looked fine!"

"Yes, only because I wanted to fuck you."

Yuuri slumped back. “Viktor, I have enough to get me through competitions, okay? And when I was skating, there’s hardly a need for me to wear suits except for the banquet. Just—”

“We’ll burn them,” Viktor grinned, grabbing Yuuri by the hand to help him stand. “Then we can add better ties to your collection. Oh, let’s add some cufflinks, too. Do your shirts have buttons? Forget it, we’re getting you shirts, too.”

“That’s a bit much.”

“None sense,” Viktor took half of the bags that they’ve set down on the bench, handed them to Yuuri, and carried the rest. “Besides, I haven’t gotten you anything for your birthday yet.”

Yuuri wasn’t going to lie, he liked how Viktor was more open to him now that they’ve established quite a few things over the past few months.

At first, Viktor was closed off, slightly hesitant, and now he was more open and...wait, did he look a little happier? He wasn’t sure what that meant if it were true, but Yuuri found himself smiling at the idea.

This, however, had turned sour pretty fast.

Instead of actually looking for the suit and cufflinks and shirts and whatever the hell Viktor had in mind, he got dragged to more places with unusual things in them. Yuuri was aware Viktor had the attention span of a five-year-old off the ice, tried to keep up as much as he could, but by the end of it Yuuri finally complained.

“Let’s go home, Viktor.” Yuuri muttered, sounding a bit too irritated than he would have liked.

“But we haven’t gotten you that shirt yet!”

“Viktor, I’m tired.” Yuuri pleaded. “Please?”

Silence.

Viktor, thankfully, was the kind who sensed the warning lights as soon as they went on. “Are...okay, do you want to walk home? I’m sorry.”

“Vitya, no. Don’t apologize, just...Please.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s go home?”

And that was that.

-

They were having a great day, truly, but this was not how Yuuri expected it to end.

Maybe he should try doing something else. Or find something to do. What if he apologized and went on with the shopping spree? But he was tired so he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up. Are those shops still open?

His master plan however, was not falling into place. He ran out of cigarettes hours ago, so that was out of the question, how about wine? Ah, definitely.

So he got that. Viktor didn’t.

Were they fighting?

This was weird. Yuuri’s never reached this point in any of his relationships, hell, he stopped going through with them when he knew they were getting a bit too serious. The reason? Well, he was too nervous to clean up after his own mess.

This, for example, was something he would never understand. Maybe he should just sit around and wait for this to blow over.

Fuck.

To hell with that anyway.

Viktor looked magnificent with the bright and colourful Christmas lights warming his pale face. So maybe Yuuri was just weak. And how stupid was that, to be so weak just by looking at Viktor’s pretty face. Surely, he’s been surrounded by pretty people before?

“Vitya,” he said.

“Hmmm?”

“Your birthday’s coming up, right? It’ll be Christmas too. What do you want me to get you?”

Viktor was looking around absentmindedly, gazing up at the street lights ahead. “Well, we don’t really celebrate Christmas, not like others, I guess. And we Russians don’t really celebrate birthdays before the actual day.”

“Oh.”

Okay.

Shot down in two sentences flat.

Viktor seemed to have noticed Yuuri’s tone, and blinked. “Um,” he muttered, dragging the syllables of every other word coming out of his mouth, as if thinking about them before he spoke. “Do you want me to get you cigarettes? There’s a tobacco shop nearby.”

Yuuri hummed, distracted. “I think I had enough for today.” He didn’t mean to make it sound so dismissive, but there he was. Goddamn, he’s not good at this. In the attempt to recover, Yuuri held up his plastic cup. “Would you want some hot wine?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Viktor shrugged. “You know what happens when I drink before a competition.”

“Right.”

_Great job, Yuuri._

They walked for a bit. In silence. Because Yuuri was a relationship noob and he didn’t know how to relieve the tension that was beginning to grow with each and every step they took.

He had meant for the question to be an ice breaker of some sort, but he really did wonder what to get Viktor for his birthday. He knew it didn’t have to be extravagant, like what Viktor had done for him, something that was appropriate for a first birthday gift—

“Tell you what,” Yuuri’s eyes trailed to a small little shop on the nearest corner. “I’ll get you something round and golden, and you do the same by the end of the finals.”

“Huh?”

“Just—” Dear god, Yuuri was bad at this. Instead, he pulled Viktor’s sleeve and led him into the lit shop. It should be closing in the next hour, so they’d better hurry.

Viktor was looking around, amazed and confused at the same time. “Where? What—”

Before he could change his mind, Yuuri went straight for the counter, looking at the glinting pieces of metal inside the glass cases. He was not one for jewellery, but you can never go wrong with a simple gold band, right? He wanted this to be a surprise, but he didn’t know how to get Viktor’s ring size without being weird, so this will do fine.

-

Yuuri has _not_ thought this through.

Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Oh, god. What was he supposed to do?

He couldn’t slip the gold band on Viktor while they were at the shop—how bland would that have been—so his next best idea was a well-lit church.

Okay, ‘well-lit’ might be understating it. The lights around it were beautiful, though, warm and not too bright, with a singing choir in chorus nearby. If Yuuri were such a sap he’d think it’d be romantic, but right at the moment, he was just a bundle of nerves ready to explode.

“I—I know you don’t celebrate prior to your birthdays, but—” He slipped the black gloves off of Viktor’s elegant hands, his hand shaking very slightly. “I wanted something like—I don’t know, for good luck, I guess? Something nice. That you’d remember me on the ice or something...um...”

Yuuri kept looking at Viktor’s face, just to check his reaction, just to reassure himself that he wasn’t being too much of a creep. Viktor’s expression, however, was serene. He looked a bit overwhelmed, yes, but there was some kind of delightedness in there, something unspoken and yet thoroughly getting its message across.

What the fuck was he doing?

Before he could lose all sensibilities, Yuuri slipped the gold band on Viktor’s finger. “I know I should be the one saying something or giving you advice, but consider this as something that’s going to make me feel better while you’re out there on the ice. It’s to make sure you know I’m right there when you perform and stuff—I—I don’t mean to be selfish but...”

Viktor stared down at his hand for a long while, and then, a small smile broke out, delighted and pretty.

“Yuuri,” he shook his head, still smiling, and reached into his pocket. He took Yuuri’s hand in his, rubbing his knuckles gently, and pulled out a very similar-looking golden band. “You really don’t have to say anything when all you’ve done up to this point is to make sure I was taken cared of.”

He looked to Yuuri for a brief moment, before he began to slip the ring on the other’s finger.

Holy shit.

What?

When?

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Viktor kissed him, several times, chuckling in between each one. “And remember, as I take the ice, my mind is always with you. I will skate for you. And I will try my hardest to make sure coaching me wasn’t the worst idea you’ve had.”

And right at that moment, Yuuri’s heart melted like it had never been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this doesn't make up for my carelessness I don't know what will.
> 
> Tell me what you think anyway?
> 
> \--
> 
> ALSO!  
> Since this fic is ending soon (and I have loads of free time and a hypomanic mind), I'm looking to write one-shots/short fics consisting of 3 chapters or less. Send me suggestions? Contact me on tumblr here: [@paperclipper](http://paperclipper.tumblr.com)
> 
> I do lame art stuff when I'm in the mood. So I guess you can send some art prompts as well? Idk, help me.


	13. Plans and Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I extended the number of chaps again due to the necessity of it.
> 
> You'll get why.

That evening went by in a haze.

Mostly thanks to the fact that Viktor was riding in delight from their very recent _exchange_ , as to which he still needed a very thorough explanation of.

If you’ve been paying attention to Viktor’s constant musings of Yuuri Katsuki, you would know that the man is something he himself was still beginning to understand. He knew that despite what the press would want you to think, Yuuri had a bad sense of impulse control and a constant inability to say what he wanted. If the sudden trip to St. Petersburg hadn’t been a prime example of such, finding a lame excuse such as a bet to top it all off, Viktor wouldn’t know how to explain it better.

Perhaps, they were just promise rings? Given to him in front of a church? In the midst of a singing choir? Was he supposed to think that they were fucking friendship rings or something?

No, not a friendship ring. Yuuri might joke about it later, but he knew it was more than that. Viktor hadn’t given much thought to it when he made his own purchase, mostly thinking of giving Yuuri a decent birthday present and nothing more—

Well, that wouldn’t matter much at the moment, for he was happy—and there was no way his evening was going to get soiled by confusion or any of that shit.

Maybe he’ll even make himself believe they were engagement rings.

“What’s your favourite movie?” Yuuri asked him, as they were passing by potential restaurants they could step into, although it didn’t feel like they were going to come a decision anytime soon. He’d deny it, but Yuuri was also quite happy with the recent events, eyes lighting up in ways that Viktor would have considered to be rare occurrences.

“Hmmm?” Viktor looked to him fondly, loving the way Yuuri’s fair skin glowed against the dark blue scarf around his neck. He always did look wonderful in blue. “Well, _Across the Universe_ is an all-timer, though we could always squeeze in _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_.”

Yuuri’s nose scrunched up. “A bit of a weird one, are we?”

“Aw, but Yuuri, those were wonderful films!”

“I know,” he said, sniggering. “I did watch The Rocky Horror way back when I didn’t know how gender worked.”

“Hah!”

“What?”

And without much warning, Viktor belted the first line of a song popping into his head, voice high pitched and squeaky. “ _I’ve only ever kissed before. I thought there was no use getting into heavy petting..._ ” He rubbed his nose against Yuuri’s shoulder. “ _I’ve got an itch to scratch, I need assistance. Touch-a-touch-a-touch me...I want to be dirty...!_ ”

Yuuri groaned. “Oh my god.”

He was sure people were staring, but that was the point. It was nice seeing Yuuri combusting from shame.

“What?” Viktor laughed against Yuuri’s coat, enjoying the warmth radiating from the other. “It’s a song about sexual freedom!”

“I think you meant sexual frustration.”

He squeezed Yuuri’s hand tighter, feeling the heat of him both calming and comforting. “How about you?”

Yuuri looked up to the starry skies, eyes fond. And then, as if without thinking, he said, “ _Napoleon Dynamite._ ”

“Ooooooh,” Viktor shot up to peer at him. “Wait, what was that song again?”

“Oh, no—”

Too late. “ _I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be—_ ”

“Oh, look!” Yuuri raised his phone and shoved it at Viktor's face. Either it was a coincidence or Viktor was just being effectively silenced. Or Yuuri just happened to be happy about the timely way out. “Chris is inviting us to a small little get-together or something. Do you mind?”

It didn't take long to make a decision, of course.

To be honest, Viktor wanted nothing more than to spend the night celebrating this evening—in their hotel room—but Yuuri looked too eager to talk to his friends that he didn’t have the heart to be selfish. Besides, making friends would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Viktor was fairly new to the international senior’s scene he was way behind his acquaintance quota.

“Do you mind if we invite Yura?” He asked, a quick solution to his current friendless state.

“That would be wonderful!” Yuuri’s attention went back to the phone and he tapped quickly for an answer. “I think you should invite him, though. I have the impression that he doesn’t like me that much.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. He’s been watching your programs since he knew how to talk,” Viktor smiled a little, fond of the little memory flashing against the back of his eyelids—young little Yura, watching a twenty-one-year-old Yuuri Katsuki skating one of his most iconic routines. “I even caught him trying to skate your routine once. I had to stop him from attempting quads, though.”

“Yeah, but he’s still growling foul language at me,” Yuuri muttered.

This had made Viktor laugh. “Didn’t I tell you there was a way to tell if he actually likes you?” Regardless, he pulled his phone out and started texting Yura. “Give me the time and place.”

Yuuri handed Viktor his phone, pointing at the time and place, which Viktor promptly searched in Google Maps and sent the link to Yura. The kid had a terrible sense of direction and he’d rather not be the one to blame if Russia’s sweet fairy unfortunately went missing.

“You care about him,” Yuuri smiled at him endearingly, leaning against him, eyes trailed on Viktor’s phone. “Anyone would have been lucky to have you as a big brother.”

“I’m not sure—”

And suddenly, Yuuri pulled back and shook his head. “Actually, never mind. If you were anyone’s brother, they’d probably have to drag your drunk ass back to your apartment often.”

“Yuuri!”

“It’s true, though.”

Viktor frowned. “I bet I’d be more in control of myself if I weren’t living alone.”

“Sure, if you say so,” Yuuri absent-mindedly hummed in what sounds to be half-hearted agreement. “And Viktor?”

He paused, stared at the suspiciously, and frowned. “What?”

“Please don’t sing again,” Yuuri ruffled his hair. “You sound like a dying bird.”

-

Viktor was seated beside Otabek Altin.

A fairly young skater at eighteen, extremely handsome, and also weirdly friendly with Yura. By the use of the words “weirdly friendly”, he hadn’t meant it in a stalker-ish way. More like the-world-must-be-melting-because-Yura-is-acting-nice way. To top it all off, Yura was relatively toned down when he’s speaking to Otabek. He was also smiling— _smiling!_ —something that doesn’t happen too often unless there were diabolical machinations at work.

Like he said, _weird_.

Georgi looked better, at least. He was there, chatting with Chris and Yuuri about some random thing that wasn’t Anya (finally), and Chris was replying to this said random conversation without much flirting (fucking finally).

Maybe Georgi found someone else? Or was he hiding his dark, wretched soul? Viktor hoped it stayed that way. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stand joining the conversation at all. He was great at small talk, sometimes witty and charming, but Viktor would rather stay away from the emotional topics. He wasn’t too good with those in particular.

“Am I late?” Phichit found a seat beside Yuuri, waving at them with that usual cheery grin of his, nose pink from the cold. He obviously went sight-seeing that day, armed with a selfie stick and a nice scarf, because who ever said it was possible to stuff Chulanont in a hotel room by himself for more than fifteen minutes?

“Just in time,” Yuuri smiled. “You’re late to reply, though. So I guess drinks are on you?”

Phichit stuck out his tongue, throwing his arm around Yuuri with the usual familiarity Viktor often witnessed in Yuuri’s apartment. He had to stop himself from smiling at the sight. Yuuri might have thought himself to be lonely, but that clearly wasn’t the case.He had wonderful friends, after all.

“Phichit! Long time!” Chris grinned. If Viktor remembered right, he was the only other skater that had ever met Phichit while he still competed.

To be honest, Viktor didn’t understand Phichit’s sudden decision to leave skating and decide to go back to university. Not a bad choice, but with a little push, Phichit would have had a bright future ahead of him. Then again, Viktor couldn’t talk when he’s become the prime example of sudden career changes.

“You look like you’ve aged, old timer.”

Chris pouted. “You wound me,” he looked to Viktor and gestured at his direction. “Besides, Viktor and I aren’t even that far off in age. But I guess Yuuri right here likes them a little younger...”

“Right,” Phichit grinned, attention now on Viktor, ignoring Yuuri’s eye-roll. “Speaking of you, at least we’re finally seeing you both get it on. Did you know I had to endure listening to Yuuri wallowing for months before he actually did anything?”

Yuuri turned quite red. “Phichit—”

But the damage has already been done.

Huh?

What did he mean by wallowing?

Yura muttered something about being saps, a title which Viktor refused to accept at all costs, but Otabek looked slightly amused at this. Then again, no one would’ve pursued the conversation—if not for Christophe.

Pouncing on the juicy detail laid out in front of him, Chris grinned mischievously. “Oh? Tell me more.”

“Well, I think Viktor was playing hard-to-get this whole time,” Phichit said, shooting Viktor a threatening glare. “Because seriously, dude. You spend a whole night dancing the night away with my best guy right here and you don’t text back? Dick move, but I kinda forgive you now.”

This did not make any sense.

For what it’s worth, though, Viktor managed to get out a startled, “What?”

“What do you mean _what_?” Yuuri’s head snapped toward him, brow furrowing.

“I—I don’t—”

Everyone on the table went silent.

They were looking at Viktor, interest peaked, some more knowingly than others. Chris looked interested. Yura looked confused. Phichit seemed disbelieving. But most of all, it was Yuuri who stood out, stopping in the middle of downing his drink, looking at Viktor like he had suddenly turned into a talking cockroach.

“Viktor,” Because of course, it was Phichit who broke the silence. “You—you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

Yuuri spit out his drink. “You—how drunk were you at last year’s banquet?”

In response, Viktor blinked.

" _Viktor_ ," Yuuri looked to him urgently. "How drunk were you?"

Oh. Last year, was it? That was in Sochi, right?

“Very.”

Silence. An awkward one.

And then, as if someone had popped the bubble they were all in, chatter filled the table quite loudly. Viktor couldn’t quite catch the specifics, but he could hear Phichit say all sorts of variations of the sentence “it all makes sense now”, Chris whistling, Yura muttering incoherent things in Russian, Georgi lamenting about true love finding its way no matter what or something like that.

Viktor still didn’t understand anything.

Holy shit, did he do something embarrassing?

He did wake up at his hotel room in the morning but he couldn’t remember much before that. Yakov didn’t tell him anything, so did Yura, so what were they talking about?

Amidst the loudness of the voices overlapping each other, was Yuuri’s. “Are you telling me,” he gasped, disbelief and horror evident in his eyes. “That it looked like I randomly knocked on your door, fresh from halfway across the world, and then I suddenly blackmailed you into coming with me?”

Okay, that was true (no matter how Yuuri phrased it), but why did he look so...embarrassed? “Isn’t that what happened?”

Yuuri hid his face in his hands, growing redder by the minute. “Oh my god.”

Confused, Viktor looked to Phichit, who was now laughing like he would lose a jaw in no time. “Jesus, Viktor, you didn’t know?” He wheezed. “You and my boy here went dancing after the banquet, almost kissed him—”

“Do tell me you’re joking,” Viktor’s right hand turned into a fist in front of him, desperately trying to grasp even the slightest memory of that banquet night. He was bored as shit, didn’t want to talk to anyone, so he drank his fill and then—

“Are you—” Phichit’s eyes shifted then, looking somewhere else, line of thought interrupted quite abruptly. “Never mind that now, what is that?”

“Hah?”

What was that? Viktor turned to look behind him, but nothing was particularly eye-catching or anything.

“I think he means the rings you boys are wearing,” Chris helpfully added.

Viktor blinked at them, confused, then he reached for Yuuri’s hand without giving it much thought. What the hell, at least the conversation’s going somewhere else. He held their hands up, but Yuuri looked rather mortified.

“Uh, they’re a match.”

A pause, except for Yura, who huffed, “What the fuck?”

Oh shit.

Viktor counted the seconds before things went out of hand.

One.

Two.

Three—

Phichit stood up, eyes wide and excited, catching everyone and anyone’s attention within a half-mile radius. “Congratulations on your marriage!”

-

They still haven’t talked about it yet.

Yuuri had gone on and clarified that they haven’t eloped and ran away into the sunset, not at all, because they weren’t that impulsive. It went on for a while, but everyone else didn’t get clear answers from any of them—or from Yuuri, for that matter. Viktor was too busy getting confused. They went home from the interesting turn of events (which begged for questions neither Viktor nor Yuuri could answer at the moment), kissed until they were both raw and tired, and went to sleep.

There was no move made by either of them to talk about what they were to each other. Viktor wasn’t one to think about labels too often, up until Yuuri necessitated them in the first place.

No matter, he was surely going to clear things up as soon as the competition’s over. They had more time after all of this is over. Viktor felt rather giddy and excited that morning, more so was his nervousness for the short program later in the afternoon.

So when he awoke much earlier than he should be, he left Yuuri a note, letting the other know that he was out for some fresh air and would bring something nice to eat while he’s at it. He did find a nice little paella griller near their hotel, so maybe he’ll make a stop before coming back.

The mornings in Barcelona was indeed pretty, something Yuuri had always told Viktor before they even arrived.

Viktor loved how it reminded him of Hasetsu, of a place where he’d seen glimpses of how Yuuri could be unguarded. He wondered when he could see it more constantly than he did now.

“You leave Russia without notice, canoodle with that douche for months, and now you’re telling me your engaged?”

_Ah, Yura._

Viktor didn’t have to turn to know who was talking to him. No one was quite like Yuri Plisetstsky, after all.

“I didn’t hear you saying ‘congratulations’,” Viktor grinned, involuntary and unseen. “Won’t Yakov be looking for you right about now, Yura?”

“Shut it,” Viktor had turned from the venom in Yura’s tone, and as he did, he saw that there was something there—not annoyance, but tension? Viktor knew Yura had nerves, knew exactly how he projected the unease with unnecessary rudeness. He’s been the shock-absorber of the said unnecessary rudeness for years, after all. “Yuuri Katsuki’s career is down the drain. Did he really think he could settle down and continue becoming the living legend that he is?”

“That’s his decision, not mine,” Viktor frowned. He did know how to handle Yura, he was quite good at it, but not now. Not when Viktor was seeking the quiet and a peace of mind. “He hasn’t told me about his future plans yet.”

“Right, because he knows what he wants with his life...sure,” Yura muttered, shaking his head. “I already told the old man what I wanted last night, but I’m telling you again. If he ever started to change his mind again, abandon you, and fly to wherever he wanted at impulse, he is going to get it.”

Viktor laughed.

Oh, Yura. He wasn’t one to show sincere concern, was he? Or was he aware that Viktor could very much see through it, so he didn’t bother being nice anyway? It would stay a mystery, but for now, Viktor will indulge himself with the idea.

Yura, however, was not amused. “Do you know that he smokes like a fucking coal train?”

“I’m very aware of that,” Viktor said, shoving his hands deeper into his trench coat. “He chain-smokes when he’s stressed, too.”

Yura’s face scrunched up into disgust, unimpressed. “Then go die from second hand smoke!” He threw his hands up. “Seriously, Viktor. Of all the people in the world...”

“Yuuri and I prefer not to plan things through,” his smiled widened a little, although he wasn’t sure if his heart was in it. “Live a little, little Yura!”

There was no talk of their future together, or each of their own after the Finals, but that was something Viktor was going to think about at another time.

He also noticed, heart pounding from both nerves and delight, that it had been the first time Viktor for him and Yuuri. Them. We. Yuuri and I. He had included Yuuri into his life, and it may be possible that this might turn to habit very soon.

“Whatever. I’m doing my absolute best today, so don’t do anything to screw up. Actually, don’t screw up at all!” Yura sneered, turned away from Viktor, and paused. His eyes suddenly went lax, serene, somewhat calm.

Viktor noticed he was looking to the beach before them, the sound of the waves comforting and constant, new and yet familiar.

“Feels a bit like St. Petersburg, no?”

Viktor hummed. “Maybe,” he smiled, a real one. “You should really come visit Hasetsu with us, Yura. I’m sure you’d like it.”

-

“Viktor, did you pack everything?” Yuuri was shuffling about inside their hotel room, tie slung around his neck, his shirt still unbuttoned. He was fussing over Viktor again, but not the usual jumpy kind that he so often did whenever he was helping with the minor preparations. “Let’s close up your jacket.”

Viktor let him. The first time this happened, he was worried about it. But now that Viktor was used to it, found it endearing even, he allowed himself to be pampered and looked after. Yuuri found his calm in making sure things were fine. If that’s what he needed, then he was free do so.

It was also a plus that Viktor liked it. There’s that.

“That suit looks good on you,” Viktor stared at Yuuri’s dishevelled outfit. He was wearing a navy blue suit and a striking red tie, a crisp white shirt underneath, and a light grey vest to go with it. His blue-rimmed glasses, of which Viktor loved the most out of the whole ensemble, added to the understated sexiness that was his boyfriend (?). “Maybe you’ll let me to choose them for you next time.”

The only thing that Viktor had a hand in the said outfit was Yuuri’s tie. The new suit Viktor’s gotten Yuuri had to be picked up in a day or two, and the shirt—well, they had a small fight before getting to the desired shirt. Luckily, he went to look for a decent tie to match the navy blue suit before all that happened.

Yuuri’s old tie was hideous.

He made a mental note to chop it up and throw it in the trash. Surely, Yuuri wouldn't be petty enough to break up with him just because of one ruine scarf, would he?

“Just make sure to feed me in between shop visits,” Yuuri said, lips quirking up into a smile. “You know how I get.”

Viktor smiled, leaned forward, and planted a small kiss. “I don’t know,” he said. “You look so sexy when you’re trying to grab my attention.”

“Don’t even—”

“I can only imagine you pining after me last year,” he sniggered. “Would you mind telling me what’s that like.”

Yuuri shoved at him playfully. “Then there’s you,” he said. “Did you know you’re an embarrassing drunk?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor glared. Or tried to. “You forget that I have no shame. If this was meant to make me uncomfortable, it won’t work.”

“Okay,” Yuuri poked at his nose lightly. “Did you know you asked me to take you to Japan?”

“I imagined I would.”

“And you offered a quick blowjob.”

“I would do that, too. It’s you, after all.”

Yuuri smirked. “And openly admitted that you’ve been obsessing over me since you were twelve.”

Viktor paused.

Oh shit.

-

Viktor was not panicking. Not at all.

Viktor Nikiforov never panicked. He didn’t care. He was often bored and didn’t give a shit about doing well technically. He was not one to think of the worst case scenario no matter how fucked up the situation is.

But holy motherfucking shit it was the Finals.

He was going in first. Not a big deal, right? At least there was no pressure to be so good at it or something.

Shit, did he find himself suddenly caring that he landed the podium?

Yuuri would understand if he didn’t, right?

But what a disappointment would that be.

_No, no, no. Not the time._

“Hey,” Yuuri smiled at him, reaching over to take Viktor’s hand. “You’ll do great today.”

And without much thought, Yuuri lifted their entwined hands to his lips.

It took moments before Viktor realized that the crowd was cheering, a bit loudly, too. They know. If the surprise kiss during the Cup of China wasn’t enough, this surely made up for it. And Yuuri, cheekily, had intentionally made sure that their rings caught light.

A declaration.

Or something like that.

Viktor wasn’t the sap king.

Not _yet_.

“ _Davai_.” Yuuri said, before letting his hand go. 

_Baby you're like lightning in a bottle_

_I can't let you go now that I got it_

_All I need is to be struck by your electric love_

And for all the great feeling that Viktor felt, no one warned him about the stress of the events that would come right after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that felt a bit short, but the next is going to be one excruciating road ahead.
> 
> So, yes. Have this last taste of fluff before we all crumble.


	14. Life and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when a bipolar insists on writing angst and fluff simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about the total number of chaps yet, tbh. Depends on ~~whether or not I lose control again~~ how I decide the story to go.
> 
> ai shiteru yo. :)

And for all the good feeling there was, Viktor hadn’t expected things to go this sour.

It was fine at first, he was stressed, but had brought himself to attention as soon as the music played. For some weird reason he felt like he was more focused than he’s ever been, executing spins and step sequences with as much control and cautiousness he could muster. Everything was tighter, faster, cleaner. He had a perfect program from the beginning up until the last jump, which didn’t turn out to be—well, what they’ve expected.

97.1 isn’t a bad score.

It really isn’t. Or so Yuuri told him, and repeatedly so.

Viktor wasn’t one to wallow. Not at all. Why was he supposed to when he didn’t even care? He shouldn’t care. He spent eight fucking years not caring, so why would he suddenly do that again?

Wait, but why was his mind running so fast right now?

He should stop thinking about the failed quad flip goddammit.

But then, his mind kept taunting him. Yuuri looked okay, didn’t he? Was he blaming himself again?

No, no, no, Yuuri’s fine.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Heck, how was he supposed to know?

All through the Men’s short program, Viktor had gone from a nervous piece of shit to a worrisome piece of shit. Really, he would have been able to shrug it off had he avoided looking at Yuuri all through the afternoon.

He noticed that Yuuri had been silent the whole time, just watching, and then stiffened whenever anyone fell on a jump attempt. As if certain flashbacks were happening in his mind.

Observing such had Viktor thinking that maybe his performance and passable score was making Yuuri either guilty or nervous. JJ’s tense routine (although to be honest, it was kind of a train wreck, but Viktor wanted to be nice about it), had affected Yuuri to some degree—he was stiff in his seat and hands had curled into fists—but that didn’t mean Viktor knew what any of that meant.

He still hasn’t been able to read Yuuri Katsuki as closely as the other reads him.

“Viktor,” Yuuri called out to him from across the table.

Right. They were having dinner together. In an arguably great restaurant that had a nice staff and crew and a welcoming ambience to it. Viktor had been the one to choose it, but only because it was nearby and prices weren’t ridiculous.

Tonight, he was supposed to stay relaxed and not think about the things that already happened and should be looking forward to what was coming.

He forgot about that.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said again, softer now. He looked gorgeous in his dark blue pea coat, his scarf and leather gloves carefully laid on the back of his chair, his glasses lightly sprinkled with droplets of melted snow. Viktor would have found it to be an amazing distraction if he had the stomach to look Yuuri in the eye.

Damn.

“You haven’t touched your food. Do you want to order something else?”

“No,” Viktor answered immediately, his voice coming out as a grumble. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ve had too much orange juice or something. I think.”

Yuuri peered at him through his glasses. “You haven’t drank anything since this afternoon.”

Well, shit.

Okay.

Way to not make him worry.

“I did!” He laughed with as much cheeriness as he could. If that had sounded all too fake, he’d hope Yuuri wouldn’t notice. “There’s a vending machine near the rink’s entrance wasn’t there? I got myself a few earlier and just got carried away, I guess.”

This, however, didn’t seem all that convincing to Yuuri. He still continued to look at Viktor, his jaw working, as if trying to figure something out. Viktor almost never lied to Yuuri’s face before, knowing fully well that he wasn’t going to get away with it and the other wasn’t going to leave it alone.

Nevertheless, Yuuri didn’t try mentioning it again up until he’s done with his food and Viktor eating half of the serving he ordered.

Maybe Yuuri tried to forget about it.

Well, at least Viktor hoped he was.

Maybe they wouldn’t broach the topic ever again.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Before they left, Yuuri went on to order some take-out. He said that if Viktor ever felt hungry a little later, then at least there was food at the ready in their hotel room.

“And don’t tell me it’s unnecessary, you know how the hotel’s menu has mostly stuff you can’t eat,” Yuuri had told him when Viktor opened his mouth to argue.

Viktor wasn’t too sure he’d have the appetite to even remember about it tonight. The possibility of the take-out bag staying unopened until morning was high, but he knew it would only start up an argument he definitely didn’t want to have at the moment.

“Sure,” Viktor said, as casually as he could, forcing out a smile. “Why don’t we get you some, too?”

He hadn’t forced a smile around Yuuri for a long time.

Maybe he’ll be fine.

Maybe they’ll be fine.

He’ll have some later, he’d be okay, and he’d somehow catch up to Yura’s lead (which in fact, was literally record-breaking). Despite how painfully scared Viktor was about what Yuuri might be thinking, he was proud. Yura deserved it. Yura worked for it. Yura was the embodiment of how Viktor had been eight long years ago.

Maybe Yuuri was finally going to tell him he’d be back on the ice for next season, and that the deal would be over.

“Yura’s program reminded me of you,” Viktor said, almost without preamble, in the midst of their walk back to the hotel.

It was bright outside, the yuletide spirit taking over the whole city. The Christmas lights mixed in with the comforting noise of the populace had a certain warmth that made the cold weather slightly bearable to get through. Maybe, if things were right with them after all of this was over, he could ask Yuuri to come back and visit Barcelona again.

Maybe he could properly ask for the long-postponed clarification of what the ring on his finger meant.

Yuuri hummed, eyes still focused on the sidewalk. “You think so? I told you I liked him.”

“He’s always been trying to catch up to you, you know?” Viktor smiled fondly, opening the front doors of the hotel for Yuuri, feeling a bit better. “He wouldn’t admit it, but bought the same posters I did. God knows where he got the money for the shipping fees and all that, but it’s quite a collection.”

They stepped into the elevator.

The doors closed.

Silence.

It was strange for the both of them to start getting quiet. During the long months of training, living and bantering with Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor was never bored or nervous.

He knew that they could talk about anything and they wouldn’t run out of conversation to make. Yuuri would share a random thought on a stupid soap opera he came across, and ten minutes later, the topic would branch out to their favourite drinks at the local cafe or something. Viktor would mention something about a childhood toy and Yuuri would have had ordered something stupid online that looked suspiciously similar to the said toy.

It was never this silent nor tense, never uncertain. They could be clumsy, but not uncertain.

“You know, you’re still pretty young,” Yuuri said, as soon as the elevator dinged and they made their way to their room. “I know you love Yura and you’re very supportive and proud of him, but I’m starting to think you’ve made up your mind.”

Viktor almost dropped the key card. “What?”

“I can’t explain it,” Yuuri muttered, shaking his head a little.

Taking advantage of the pause, Viktor opened the door and slipped inside the room. He never felt like he’d ever feel the sudden need to be in a closed space like this before, as if he knew there was an oncoming discussion not fit for public space of the hallways.

Like he needed an escape, and fast. Which was stupid.

Yuuri followed him inside, taking Viktor’s coat for him and laid it on the bed. The shuffled about for a bit, removing items of clothing and Viktor trying to fix his already-pristine hair. Yuuri seemed a little distant, his mind working, waiting for his thoughts to be spoken out loud.

“If something’s been bothering you...you’d tell me, right?”

Viktor didn’t turn to face him. Instead, he chose to sit on the bed, suddenly feeling very exhausted. “You know I would.”

A pause.

“Then what’s wrong?”

He could hear Yuuri’s footsteps coming closer, though they were slightly hesitant, strangely lacking of the usual air of confidence.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You haven’t been eating, you’re distracted, and you wouldn’t look at me in the eye.”

Viktor felt the bed shift under Yuuri’s weight, close to where he sat, but not close enough.

“If you’re worried about the short program—”

“I don’t care about the short program.”

There it is.

Out in the open.

All too sudden and inexplicably too much. He didn’t know why it felt like so, why his tone had come out a little too harsh than he wanted it to, why it felt like Yuuri was being intrusive.  
Yuuri didn’t mean that, of course. Viktor was just being stupid and he should probably apologize.

“Then what is bothering you?”

What was it, in fact.

“Nothing,” Viktor said, slipping his shoes off as slowly as he could. He tried to think before he spoke, as if he were tiptoeing around something he still wasn’t too familiar with. He hated it. “Given the circumstances, I probably won’t be skating next season, so I guess it’s time I polished off my programs for Worlds and—”

“What do you mean you’re not skating next season?”

Oh.

Shit.

Why did he say that out loud?

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighed as he successfully freed himself of his shoes, but was now running out of things to fumble with while he was busy not looking Yuuri in the eye.

So here was Viktor’s solution: babble.

Make small talk.

Try to shrug it off like it was something unimportant.

“You need to go back to the ice and you know that. You offered to be my coach for the Grand Prix, and now it’s almost over. You’ve had your break, you found your inspiration, and I think it’s time I returned you to—”

Viktor heard sniffling.

Oh, Jesus.

No.

Slowly, he turned to Yuuri, who was still seated beside him—but was now wiping away fresh tears.

Oh no.

Swallowing hard, Viktor reached for his face, intending to brush his hair away. “Yuuri—”

“What?”

Viktor retracted his hand as fast as he could. “I—I’m sorry.”

“After all we’ve done together, training, everything...and now you’re telling me you’re going to just quit?”

“Yuuri, that’s not what I—”

“Then what is it?” Yuuri’s tone was hard. Angry. Pissed off.

“You’ve had a wonderful career. You still had a promising one right before you decided to find me,” Viktor tried to keep his voice steady, chose his words carefully, giving it all he had to make it seem like he knew what he was doing. He didn’t. “And you’re the one who said that you’d only be with me as my coach up until the end of the GP series...”

“I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor winced. “But isn’t that what you meant?”

“So you’ve been waiting for the series to be over and send me back to Detroit again? All this time?” Yuuri had taken off his glasses, now letting his tears do as they please, allowing his voice to finally crack. “You know I’m not a good mentor or coach or whatever, and I know I haven’t done much for you...in fact, I’ve been wondering if you secretly wanted to give up and go back to Yakov instead.”

Viktor jaw went slack, the words he had intended to stay dissolving into thin air.

“Or worse, pack up and go back to Russia—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor frowned. “Is that what you think? That I was a mess today because _you’re_ inadequate?”

Yuuri looked up to him in alarm. “You weren’t a mess.”

“You’re just saying that,” Viktor muttered, low as a whisper. “I did fuck up and it’s my fault. I’m too old and it’s too late for me to establish my non-existent career. I’d much rather you go back on the ice.”

“How do you expect me to go back when you’ve long decided to quit!”

Silence.

Viktor was certain, in that singular moment, his heart had shattered.

“You don’t—that’s—,” Viktor felt his throat closing up from the pent up tension inside him, far too confused and uneasy. “You know you could always come back without me, that doesn’t make sense...”

Yuuri rubbed the heels of his hands unto his forehead, kneading at the skin roughly, and then he stood up.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, voice clipped.

“Where are you going?”

“Roof,” Yuuri swiped his carton of cigarettes, and without looking back, he was out the door.

-

“Vitya, you know this is not solving anything.”

Viktor looked up to Mila, who was perched on the barstool beside him. In his distress, the first thing that had come to mind was to ask her to get some drinks. Which was obviously a rather outrageous request, considering that they had practices by morning.

But this was Mila. She knew, from the moment Viktor called, that there was something wrong. In retrospect, Viktor wasn’t one to deny himself alcohol mid-competition. He often did out of boredom, much to Yakov’s regular disappointment, but it never came to a point where he asked a teammate or a fellow competitor to come self-destruct with him.

“What’s not solving anything?” He sipped at his brandy quickly, hoping he was going to get sloshed in the next thirty minutes.

He had an impressive alcohol tolerance, but that wasn’t a problem when he’s not driving or when he’s stupid enough to hand his credit over to the bartender. Plus, he was by the bar, no need to stand up or go find a waiter when he needed more.

“Drinking.”

“Nonsense,” Viktor snorted. “Alcohol solves everything. It’s like a wonder drug in liquid form.”

Mila hid her face in her hands, her tall glass of beer left forgotten in front of her.

She didn’t even like beer.

Yakov or Lilia would surely smell the scent of smoke and booze on her later tonight, and he should be worried about that, but Viktor was in too much confusion to actually think about the repercussions of his own actions. She’d probably forgive him anyway, he could tell from the way she had haphazardly dressed to slip out of her hotel room at midnight.

“Vitya,” Mila caught Viktor’s hand when he made a move to call for the bartender again. “If Yuuri smells that on you, wouldn’t it make things worse?”

Viktor stopped to think.

 _Really_ think.

Oh.

He hadn’t thought about that.

“You said he was already blaming himself. What do you think would happen if he saw your drunk ass tonight?”

“I could sleep somewhere else.”

“ _Viktor!_ ”

He leaned further into the edge of the bar, looking into his empty glass like it held the answer to the universe.

Contrary to popular opinion, Viktor found answers at the bottom of wine bottles, always had. He got the idea of owning a cafe from it. He got the idea to purchase his current apartment while hammered in Moscow. Drunkenness was never all bad for him, not when he’s losing inhibitions and when he was ever so suddenly getting great ideas from it.

Sometimes, due to the strange way his mind worked, he’ll get inspiration for routines too.

“I told him to go back on the ice,” Viktor muttered. “I told him that and he flipped. It doesn’t make sense, Mila. He knew how much I liked watching him skate and it was only natural that I wanted him to compete again—”

Mila groaned. “You idiot.”

“Huh?”

“Of course, he’d flip! You know he dropped everything to coach you, right? You know he thought he wasn’t doing any good for you...”

“I never said—”

“You never said it out loud. And knowing you, you probably didn’t mean it like that,” Mila’s stare was intense, her words spaced out and clear like she was talking to a ten-year-old. “But Viktor, telling him to go back to the ice made it sound like you didn’t want him to coach you anymore. Or is that what you meant?”

“No,” Viktor frowned.

“Exactly,” Mila rubbed her eyes. “That’s not what you meant but you never thought about how _he’d_ take it. Did you tell him it wasn’t your intention?”

“I—”

He didn’t.

“We’re leaving,” Mila stood up and asked for the check. When the bartender handed Viktor’s credit card, she took it immediately and shoved it into his hand. “Let’s go find something non-alcoholic to drink. My treat.”

“Wait, what?”

“We need to rid of all evidence that you ever drank tonight,” Mila grabbed his arm and basically hauled him out of the bar. “Do you have cologne? Never mind, I brought some. He knows your gay, right?

“Of course he knows I’m gay,” Viktor muttered as he allowed her to drag him around. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, just in case he’d think you went out to find a hooker since you’d smell like a girl,” her eyebrows furrowed, mind working. “On second thought, just take a shower as soon as you get back. Maybe that’ll clear your head a little before you talk to him.”

“Mila.”

“What?”

She stopped walking all too suddenly, Viktor bumping into her rather awkwardly in the process.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

Heck.

Mila closed her eyes, breathing in heavily. He’s never seen him this worried or frustrated before. “Viktor, you know we basically grew up together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ve known you longer than anyone else.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen through your disastrous dating life, too.”

Viktor swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And you care about what I think?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And I’ve never seen you this happy. Not with anyone or anything,” she pointed a finger at him, her glare sharp and commanding. “No, not even that hotshot hockey player you dated for a year.”

Ew.

Viktor felt like he’d puke. “He was a dick.”

“I know,” Mila said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, a small smile beginning to appear on her pretty face. “This doesn’t happen too often, Vitya. I don’t want to be too grim about it, but I’m having the slightest feeling it'll likely never happen again. Not with anyone else...”

Viktor’s hand curled into fists, his chest exploding, his mind running at full speed. Of course she was right. Of course there wouldn’t be anyone like Yuuri Katsuki, not by a long shot.

“So please, Nikiforov,” she put her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him. “ _Don’t fuck it up_.”

-

The next time he saw Yuuri, however, was the morning after.

He had gotten back to the hotel, mouth smelling of breath mints Mila handed to him, but Yuuri hadn’t been there. Viktor took the opportunity to shower, wash out the smoke in his hair, brush his teeth, and emptied his bottle of aftershave.

He waited hours, sat on his butt in nervous tension, but the exhaustion came to him first.

“You’ve been drinking,” Yuuri said, softly.

Viktor very much wanted to deny it, hell, he’d gone an extra mile to make sure Yuuri wasn’t going to notice it. He hadn’t planned on lying, though. If Yuuri never mentioned it, great—if he did, well, there was nothing to do about it.

“How can you tell?” He sat up slowly, thankful for the lack of hangover.

Yuuri was seated at the edge of the bed, still wearing the same shirt he had on the night before, though he was wearing pyjama pants.

Despite the utterly obvious blank look he was sporting, the corner of his lips quirked into a soft smile. “It’s not like I didn’t know you, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Do you—” Viktor stared back at him.

Christ, Yuuri was beautiful in the morning—rumpled clothes, unwashed hair, and all.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

“I should’ve considered what you wanted,” Yuuri spoke softly, more gentle than he usually did. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that and not...I don’t know. I shouldn’t have been selfish, I guess.”

And god, did Viktor want to reach for him. Although for some unknown reason (probably unfounded and stupid), he decided to hold back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

They stared at each other, and did nothing else for the next few moments of rapid heartbeats and controlled emotions.

Viktor found it difficult to breathe.

“Maybe later?” Yuuri offered. “You look like you need some breakfast.”

-

They never talked about it.

Not when they went out to grab some breakfast at a nice restaurant Yuuri discovered the night before.

Not when it they decided not to come to the rink for practices and spend the day wandering around aimlessly instead.

Not when Viktor had Yuuri pinned against the wall and was pounding into him as hard as he could.

They weren’t silent. Not at all.

In fact, they kept up with their usual conversation about the most mundane things—about a nice restaurant Viktor wanted to try before they left, about some piece of furniture Yuuri wanted to get for his apartment. About a new type of dog treat Viktor wanted to get Vicchan. About whether Yuuri liked the Velvet Underground or not.

They talked about anything and everything—except skating.

It was like neither of them wanted to broach the topic for fear that it might start up some kind of discomfort, some kind of argument.

“Detroit or St. Petersburg?” Yuuri had asked him as they both lay in bed, naked and overheated, warm and satiated.

Viktor stroked Yuuri’s hair out of habit, thankful that Yuuri’s nose was buried into the crook of his neck, which meant that he didn’t have to make eye contact. “What do you mean?”

“Where do you want us to live?”

Viktor’s heart stuttered.

Was Yuuri—

“I mean, we don’t have to decide immediately, of course,” Yuuri buried his nose further into Viktor, breathing in. “You could always tell me whenever you're sure.”

“Frankly, I don’t care where it is, as long as it’s with you.”

There was a pause.

Yuuri’s breathing had stuttered, his arm tightening around Viktor’s waist. “Well, I do love St. Petersburg.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh.”

This was it.

They needed to talk about it.

They had to.

With a steadying breath, Viktor said, “We haven’t even talked about what to do after the Finals.”

Yuuri shifted a little, drawing little circles across Viktor’s stomach, as if he was busying himself. “We could always decide after the Finals, you know.” He whispered softly, turning his head to kiss Viktor’s collarbone, warm and familiar. “Unless, you didn’t have plans to stay with me regardless.”

“God, no,” he frowned. “I told you, I’m happy wherever as long as it’s with you.”

They’ve lived together for a while now.

Viktor had spare keys to both Yuuri’s apartment and his car, had eventually convinced Yuuri into letting him pay rent, did the groceries every other week, and did some plumbing when something went wrong with the pipes.

They had this routine, established long before they even acknowledged what they were to each other, but they both knew they hadn’t sat down and talked about the long-term things.

Not like this, and it was so overwhelming.

“Marry me.”

Yuuri stilled.

Oh, wait.

Did he just say that out loud?

Slowly, Yuuri lifted his head, pulling back a little to look at Viktor in the eye. “Say that again?”

“You—you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to—” Viktor sputtered incoherently. “I mean, I know it’s been only a few months, so if you think we’re moving too fast you shouldn’t feel bad about telling me it's...”

He trailed off suddenly, looking away to gather up what’s left of his confidence, expecting the other to shrug it off.

But no.

Instead, Yuuri asked again, “Would you say that again?”

“I—” Viktor tried to steady his breath, tingling from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair. “Marry me.”

Fuck.

A pause, and then, Yuuri caught Viktor’s lips in his. It was long and gentle. Heated and certain. Like it was an answer in of itself.

“If it is a serious question, then know that my answer is yes. Definitely. Always.”

For a second, Viktor thought he was going to explode, turn into a supernova, rearrange the galaxies.

There was nothing quite like Yuuri Katsuki asking Viktor to become his boyfriend, but Yuuri Katsuki agreeing to marry him?

Now that, was _incredible_.

Viktor grinned, planted a soft kiss on Yuuri’s temple, and sighed. “Well, I guess we won’t have to bother with the engagement rings, then.”

-

Viktor should be elated as soon as he woke up in the morning.

Why wouldn’t he be? He was engaged, Yuuri was moving in with him, and nothing could go wrong.

Except, that they hadn’t talked about yet another important thing.

Yuuri was fussing over him as usual, but they were silent. They didn’t speak unless Yuuri was asking him about his costume or if he’d slept or if he double-checked his blades. He didn’t know how to explain it concretely, but no matter how close they were, they still seemed...distant.

Like there was a thin piece of glass between them, delicate enough that it would shatter at slightest touch.

It drove him crazy.

It went on, the thin piece of barrier perpetually separating them, even up until Viktor was about to take the ice.

“ _Davai_ ,” Yuuri had said.

Viktor nodded stiffly, blowing his nose and working his nerves.

“Vitya,” Yuuri reached up to touch his face, feather-like and tentative. “I know we’ll decide whatever it is we want to do after the finals, but—I’ve—I dropped everything I had believing you could be great, and you already are, but how is it that you’ve never won a gold medal yet?”

What?

Viktor blinked. “I—”

“I love you, and nothing about that is going to change, but do something for yourself for once will you?”

Do something for himself? No, that wasn’t quite right. Viktor was a selfish piece of shit and did whatever he wanted, so what did Yuuri mean by that?

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Viktor managed.

“You wanted me to stop coaching you because you think you’re holding me back. You are not. I never regret that decision, not ever.” He smiled. "I'll never regret  _you_."

Yuuri swiped his thumb over Viktor’s cheek, and it came away damp.

Oh.

He didn’t know he was crying.

“I can’t wait to see you on the highest podium, you know that?” Yuuri embraced him tightly, rubbing circles on his back. “Do your best and skate for me?”

Viktor laughed. “ _Hai._ ”

And he was off.

There was nothing quite like it, the moment right before the music started.

That singular moment where the applause ceased, the sound of ice the only thing audible, the moment where a skater’s concentration is fully focused on the performance he was about to do.

Viktor had always complained about the stories and the step sequences and the song being Italian and all that, right?

Well, not anymore.

_I hear a voice weeping in the distance_

_Have you maybe been abandoned as well?_

Viktor had never thought about being lonely.

He wasn’t, right?

He always had Mila, Yura, even Yakov. He had done so many things, made so many stupid decisions, and yet they were there for him. They loved him, contrary to how some of them might verbally admit, and yet there was _something_ missing.

There always was.

He could never quite describe it in any way that made sense.

It’s just there. He just felt empty. Hallow.

What was it that he needed to do again?

Right.

A combination jump.

_Come now, I'll quickly finish this glass of wine_

_I’ll start to get ready_

_Be quiet now_

What was it that he missed? Surely, it wasn’t the ice.

Viktor came regularly to practice. He would come to the rink when he was confused or angry or just outright miserable. He sought refuge in it when he had lost Makkachin to cancer. He skated to no end when he needed a distraction or when he needed to sort things out.

Despite what Yuuri might think, he bore himself on the ice far more than he wanted to admit.

A triple flip, landed.

_With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love_

_I wish I could enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion_

Viktor had loved so many people in his life. There was David, there was Alexei. He poured all that he felt for them in his skating, won gold at Junior’s because he was so utterly in love with David Orlov.

He made the mistake of getting attached far too many times, got hurt far too many times.

And then, as time went on, his heart had begun to harden.

He lost all reason to make his routines meaningful, to express what he felt in the way that he moved. How could he skate about love when he was betrayed by it? How could he skate about life when he had so suddenly stopped living?

A triple Axel.

_This story that has no meaning_

_Will vanish tonight together with the stars_

_If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope_

Step sequences.

Yuuri had asked him why he suddenly lost all interest in skating.

To be honest, the reason was all too pathetic.

It was stupid, to have been traumatized by one heartbreak, to feel less and less motivated as he grew more and more desensitized to the idea of pain.

It was hard to face the ice again when he had poured his heart too many time unto it.

It was harder to be in it with all the memories it brought him.

_Stay close to me, don’t go away_

_I’m afraid of losing you_

And then—well, he already knew why he was back on the ice again, didn’t he?

Why he wanted to hold on to it.

Why he braved coming back to it.

Biellmann, one Yuuri would be proud of.

Quad Salchow.

Step sequences.

Why was he going to bother putting everything he felt about Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and reigning World Ice Skating Champion, into words? How could he? When they both knew they’ve always communicated through actions.

Through kisses.

Through embraces.

Through tears.

Christ, he loved him. _Loves_. Will continue to, as long as he’s able. As long as Yuuri allows it.

_Your hands, your legs,_

_My hands, my legs,_

_And our heartbeats_

_Are blending together_

Combination jumps.

What was life and love to him, you ask?

He couldn’t say.

He was never good with words, after all.

_Let’s leave together_

_I’m ready now_

Viktor braced himself, his heart in his throat. With all the people he ever loved at the back of his mind, he took off.

And landed a quadruple flip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess we'd have to agree that my queen Mila is the true hero in this chapter. FUKEN FITE ME.
> 
> Also, send in some prompts for one-shots/short fics. Idk. This is almost over so I feel like I'd have a lot of time on my hands. Help me out, fam.  
> HMU [@paperclipper](https:/paperclipper.tumblr.com)
> 
> OR  
> You could be the ones thinking: "but Anna, why don't you just fucken work on Silver Winters instead? So you could like, update faster and shit, because you're so fond of starting up new projects without finishing stuff first and it stumps your update time."  
> (no one's said this to me, cause y'all are nice. But it's what I tell meself.)  
> [Check it out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10337136/chapters/22849340) if you're in the mood for urban fantasy, angst, and surprises. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Tell me what you think?


	15. Aria and Duet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Finds popcorn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Deviated a little, but if you've been paying attention to the previous chaps, I guess you'll find it reasonable that I've decided for the results of the finals to go this way.
> 
> Also, this got delayed because my anxious ass had to go rewrite stuff constantly. And no, I didn't mean editing errors, I meant deleting the previously-written stuff and then I started writing again. I think this is the fourth version.

If it were a year ago and you’ve been unfortunate enough to have had a look inside Viktor Nikiforov’s head, you’d know there was nothing particularly interesting about it other than four years of Linguistic Studies and a penchant for good (in his own opinion) music. Yuuri Katsuki was on that list of things and people he thought about, of course, but the name had slowly been knocked off year after year after year of disinterest and lack of energy to push through.

Viktor has known love before, if not unrequited at most, but he gave it away regardless if someone returned it or not.

He’s struggled through criticisms and let downs, mostly directed at either his sexuality or his incapability to maintain a proper relationship with someone. He would for so long deny that he masks his own fears with cool disinterest, sometimes pretending so well he’d come to believe it at some point.

So it was nothing short of beautiful when Yuuri had basically barged into his life, without much warning nor prudence to ask permission to, and he couldn’t imagine life without all of that. Although, for the record, if Viktor had remembered his drunken exploits in Sochi the year before, things would have made a lot more sense.

And yes, maybe Viktor had already dethroned Georgi Popovich as the number one sap king—probably long before Viktor ever acknowledged it.

“That was beautiful, Vitya,” Yuuri had run up to him in a crushing hug right after he’s made it to the edge of the rink, nuzzling Viktor’s shoulder in the same familiar way that was both welcoming and reassuring. 

Viktor pulled back a little so he could see Yuuri face, and found his cheeks to be damp, eyes still glassy. “Oh, _zolotse_.” He brushed his thumb against Yuuri’s wet cheeks, wondering how one could make crying so utterly beautiful. “You know how I don’t like seeing you cry.”

“Shut up, you were amazing out there,” Yuuri embraced him again, his next words muffled by Viktor’s costume. “You’ve always been an endless chain of surprises, Viktor Nikiforov.”

What happened after was something of a blur.

Viktor very much wanted to remember it, dearly, but there were so many things happening all at once that it had come to a point that it stopped making any sense. There were too many people talking, too many of them screaming, some were trying to say something to him but he couldn’t quite understand them through the noise.

And if you’ve ever been familiar with the way Viktor’s mind worked, you’d know he’s one who didn’t like explaining things extensively. So for the benefit of himself and his confused mind, he’d broken down the moments that happened right after his score was announced in four significant events:

First, was that Viktor Nikiforov had somehow broken the world record that has endured five years without anyone getting close to it.

Second, was that Yuuri had—quite briefly and offhandedly—told Viktor that he was going to compete for a few more seasons. Viktor had tried to push him into explaining a bit more, but to no avail.

Third, was that Yura had yelled at him (with creative swearing) about being stupid enough to even think about retiring at such a young age. He had said something like, “I’ll show you and wipe the floor with you in my fucking free skate! Enough that you’d never think about quitting up until you’re up to par, you idiot”.

And lastly, he stood at the highest podium at the medal ceremony, leading against Yura by less than a half-point.

Okay, fuck, he couldn’t believe it himself but he won.

What the actual fuck.

When he had stepped down from the podium and had come to the rink side, still utterly overwhelmed and dazed, he had almost tripped when Mila basically launched herself at him. She was embracing him tightly, enough to remind him that Mila was doing strength training and could kill a man unintentionally, but he welcomed it.

“That—That was amazing! I always knew you could do it, Vitya!”

Mila spoke at breakneck speed, occasionally throwing in squeals and excited jumps, most of the stuff she said was actually incoherent at best. It had added to his current overwhelmed confusion, but he accepted it, thankful that he had lovely friends who had always been there for him.

Mid-way through Mila’s gushing, came Yura, who threateningly pointed a finger at him, and said, “you’re not beating me next time. Just you wait ‘till I’ve rearranged the jump composition and you’ll say goodbye to your record. Soon.”

Oh.

Viktor couldn’t help himself. He pulled away from Mila, and as quickly as he could, trapped Yura in a hug. Yura had tried to run away, probably in the effort to get away from embarrassment or to look cool. “Aw, Yura! That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me!” He grinned. “You should come grab dinner with us—and oh! Bring your boyfriend too, so we could get to know him.”

Yura, with a force that had Viktor stepping away, had pushed Viktor off of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mila, look! He’s in denial.”

“Well, Altin is pretty hot.”

Viktor hummed. “Maybe. But does he know how to set boundaries? I mean, I know Yura’s technically of age in Russia, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

He ignored it. “—we’ll let him get away with whatever he wants, don’t we, Mila? Yura is a baby. And what’s his name again?”

Mila smiled. “Otabek.”

“Oh, that’s right! He’s eighteen, isn’t he?”

The chatter went on like it usually would, Yura red in the face and Mila and Viktor basically doing everything to make it all the more awkward for him. Mila had gone on to tease Yura, which had led to them chasing one another down to the bleachers and out into the waiting area. People had to step away quickly and reluctantly so the didn’t get bulldozed, looking either confused or harassed.

Viktor, despite being left alone by himself, had laughed. He had missed them, his rink mates, and dearly so. St. Petersburg was truly a beautiful city, but he wouldn’t have stayed for as long as he had if not for the people in it.

He knew for a fact that he got bored so easily, exemplified by his constant habit of moving from one apartment to another just because things have started to become quite bland. Right after his decision to not pursue the rest of last year’s season, he had been juggling ideas to move to Moscow or migrate to France, which was only prevented through Mila’s constant visits and Yura’s weekend fridge raids. He had missed those moments with them, those moments that happened off the ice, the ones Viktor had so long wanted to stay in.

And now, with a gold medal hanging from his neck, he realized he wanted to share moments like these with them on the ice, too.

Moments later, he felt arms wrapping around his waist, perfectly slotting around him like they always belonged there. Viktor didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Hello,” Yuuri murmured against his costume, voice low and calm.

“Hi,” Viktor replied without turning, a smile creeping up his lips.

It would be good to mention that Viktor’s been receiving a lot of hate mail recently, Yuuri and him both, thanks to the free and public nature of their relationship. Yuuri’s been getting some from Viktor’s crazed admirers, Viktor from the people who thought he didn’t deserve Yuuri at all, and them both for their sexuality.

He was aware of the cameras around them, of the people snapping pictures on their phones, but Viktor didn’t care. And amazingly, Yuuri didn’t as well. 

“I won.” Yuuri said.

Viktor chuckled. “Did you?”

“You’re free to do whatever you want from now on.”

“To be honest, it was kind of a lame bet. What did you get for it, the right to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Bragging rights,” he whispered. “It also doesn’t hurt that the said bet got me into your pants.”

Yuuri’s voice was soft now, anticipating, and if Viktor relied on how fast his heart was beating, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think that Yuuri was slightly nervous.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel amused. “And what do you want me to do? For losing to you?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri hummed. “I told you, it’s all up to you.”

And there it was. It didn’t come out as a question, but Viktor knew what it was. Yuuri was giving him free reign, wanted Viktor to choose one over the other but never threatening to make the decision for him. If Viktor had been afraid of making commitments in relationships before, it was either he was being ridiculous or wasn’t with the right person.

Although, a sap as he might be, he was pretty sure it was the latter.

With a deep breath, Viktor chose his next words carefully. “You said you wanted to move to St. Petersburg, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“But I guess it’ll have to wait, then. We couldn’t possibly move to Russia for another few years.” Viktor said, still smiling, waiting for Yuuri to understand.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he turned around, facing Yuuri, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Cameras and haters and the holy father be damned. “Celestino’s handling other skaters, isn’t he? You can’t train me in Russia when your coach isn’t there.”

Yuuri stilled.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four seconds.

And then, as the realization finally came, he basically tackled Viktor to the ground with an embrace so tight it knocked the air out of Viktor’s lungs. He pulled away abruptly, looking at Viktor like might actually cry again, and said, “good enough, but I need more.”

Viktor blinked. “What?”

“Vitya, you know I’m not getting paid for training you, right? I mean, the sex is fine but we’re not going anywhere unless you don’t consistently win,” he said, pointing a finger at Viktor. “It’ll be hard for me make a proper comeback while juggling training time with you, so I’ll need you to be a five-time champion, atleast.”

And if you were familiar enough to know how Viktor’s mind worked, you’d know that the request in itself was daunting and in need of a magnanimous amount of commitment. And still, even if Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and reigning world ice skating champion, was going to ask him anything outrageous—well, he’d say yes no matter, wouldn’t he?

With a hearty laugh, he said, “I’ll make sure to beat you, coach.”

“I wouldn’t dream of anything less.”

-

They had dinner with the Russian team, plus Phichit.

Which, to Viktor’s surprise, had been Yuuri’s suggestion. Friendly as he might seem, Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t one to enjoy a crowd, even if the said crowd only consisted of six people. But once they went back to their hotel room that night, starved and in need of relaxation, Yuuri had the suddenly asked him if it was okay to invite his teammates to go eat with them at a nearby restaurant.

Viktor had stared at Yuuri for a few moments before he dug out his phone, typed up a quick message to Yakov, who had responded quickly. He sent another text to Yura, reminding him to bring a certain someone as Viktor requested. He had also invited Phichit to come, who had moaned about wanting to go out for a drink instead, but had agreed nonetheless.

There was no sign of Otabek Altin, though, much to Viktor’s disappointment. I would be nice to poke fun at Yura while steadily embarrassing him. Viktor mentioned this at the table, which to his dismay, was responded with a glared and nothing more. Probably because Yura had the sensibilities not to act crass in front of the illustrious Lilia Baranovskaya, which was a shame.

“Katsuki,” Yakov spoke in the middle of the said dinner, eyeing Viktor from across the table. “You said you were coming back this season, and you’d be doing that while training Vitya?”

“Yes,” Yuuri responded with a little too much respect than Viktor would have.

Yakov looked a little sceptical. “And you wouldn’t neglect Vitya’s training?”

“Yakov!” Viktor had spoken in time with Yuuri, who only smiled and declared, “I wouldn’t imagine it.”

Silence feel unto their group, with an atmosphere that could have either contained amazement or shock. Yura was looking Viktor, then at Yuuri, squinting. Georgi had put his hand to his chest, looking like he had just melted like a really disgusting ice cream.

Yakov, however, still had that blank look on his face. “What are you going to do about nationals?”

Oh. Right.

That was the thing, wasn’t it? The Russian and Japanese Nationals did overlap, and it would be impossible for either of them to—

“I've been working on some stuff and they've been polished. I've been talking to Celestino through Skype a lot, he's giving me everything I needed, and I could clean it up once we're back in Detroit. I could go with Viktor on the first day, and then ask Nishigori—a friend of ours—to accompany him for the rest of the competition.” Yuuri replied, his fork clutched a little too tightly in his hand. He hadn’t thought about that as well, had he? “It wouldn’t be a problem as long as I could watch over his skating right up to the moment the competitions begin.”

“Nonsense. I know you’re good, young man, but even legends like Lambiel needed practice. I’d much rather you didn’t do a half-assed performance just because you’ve been busy with Vitya.” Yakov frowned. “Who also happens to have people he could go to.”

“Huh?” Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll look after him while you focus on your own nationals,” Yakov said, looking at Yuuri directly. “I’ll make sure he returns to you without so much as a drop of brandy in him.”

The silence came once again. Yura had gone from shock to just utter confusion, but he miraculously never said anything.

Taking advantage of the silence, Viktor beamed, and said, “Yakov, you do love me!”

“Shut up,” Yakov’s face turned sour. “I’m eating, Vitya. This couldn’t possibly be good for the digestion.”

The night went on at the same relaxed paced as they hoped, Yuuri thanking Yakov for his (newly-discovered) kindness, and Viktor went on to berate Yura of his supposed steamy love life. It was comforting and wonderful, enough that Viktor even had the nerve to make conversation with Lilia, and had willingly spoken to Georgi about a new girlfriend he was looking forward for them to meet.

Phichit had gone on to join in on the fun as well, reliving some of the things he had recalled while he was still in the competitive scene, which led to Yura asking him as to why he’d ever choose a freaking master’s degree when he had a promising career ahead of him.

It would seem that there was nothing better that could have happened, despite the whirlwind of crossroads Viktor had faced in the last couple of days.

He had, for some reason, always chosen the easier road. If things started turning bitter in a relationship, he’d break at off as fast as possible. If there was a jump he couldn’t seem to perfect, he’d give it up and say he’ll do it in the next competition. If he felt like he hit a wall in his skating, he’d step away, thinking he could always come back to it when he needed to.

“How’s my gold medallist?” Yuuri kissed him on the elevator on their way back to their hotel room, his breath smelling of rum faintly.

“ _Very_ full,” Viktor groaned. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to eat half of the stuff you suggested I tried.”

“Ah, well. A reward’s not too bad. What does Phichit call it again?” Yuuri looked up. “Oh! Right. Positive reinforcement.”

Viktor frowned. “You make it sound like I’m a dog.”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Yuuri reeled in feigned shock. “More like a child.”

“You forget you’re marrying me.”

“Yes, and I’ve been looking for more challenge since I’ve trained Vicchan to perfection.”

Viktor’s frown deepened. “Yuuri!”

If you think about it, Yuuri never did impose that he was going to leave Viktor had he chosen differently. In fact, it Yuuri who brought up the topic of moving in together. It was Yuuri who told him he could do whatever he wanted, and he would stay regardless. When Viktor had come to the said crossroads again, it would have been much easier if he retired, wouldn’t it? He’d carry on running his business in St. Petersburg, support Yuuri all through the competitions he’d be in, walk Vicchan so he stayed in shape, and probably move to another flat much bigger than what he already has.

He wasn’t going to lose Yuuri if he’d chosen differently, and yet here he was. It wasn’t so much as the sudden allure of a gold medal that made him choose which way to go, but he couldn’t tell you as to why this was the way he’d heading.

“You told him,” Viktor murmured as he was opening the door.

“What was that?”

“Yura,” Viktor said. “You told him I was thinking of retiring so he went on to lecture me.”

“Did he?” Yuuri smirked. “I didn’t tell him to go mouth it off, though.”

“But you knew he would?”

Yuuri embraced him again, kissing his neck. “I told you I liked him.”

“I invited him to Hasetsu.”

“Now, that’s interesting.”

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri pulled away to look at him. “Yes?”

“Dance with me?”

Because Viktor was a sap, he had gone on to reach for his phone, and tapped the play button.

A familiar tune echoed across the room, one as familiar as the two he’d skated to repeatedly, as familiar as the songs he skated to while occasionally falling on his face or when he ate ice. Familiar, despite the slight changes to the original song. Always familiar, like the whole of Yuuri was to him.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_  
_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_  
  
_Orsù finisca presto questo calice di vino_  
_e inizio a prepararmi_  
_Adesso fa’ silenzio_

Yuuri was smiling up at him, taking one of Viktor’s hand in his, his other hand finding its way to Viktor’s hips. “Fair warning, I still haven't told the higher ups about the pair skate.”

Humming, Viktor pressed close, his cheek against Yuuri’s. “Oh no, what do we do?”

“Apologize later.”

“But what if they threw tomatoes at us?”

“You look lovely in anything, so it’s not like I’d mind.”

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_  
_Ho paura di perderti_

They weren’t doing any complicated steps, nothing that even vaguely resembled the actual choreography. They were doing what could have been a really slow waltz, their bodies familiar with each other, every step just in time with other. It was wonderful. It was breath-taking.

Viktor never wanted it to end.

_Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_  
_Le mie mani, le mie gambe,_  
_e i battiti del cuore_  
_si fondono tra loro_

“Hey,” Yuuri whispered. “I was thinking...”

Viktor kissed him on the cheek, humming something to encourage him to go on.

“There’s this shelter I passed by the other day, and I’ve been introduced to an eight-year-old dog. No one wanted to adopt her since she’s a bit old...”

“Yeah?”

“And I told the guy working there we’d be picking her up right before we leave for Detroit.”

Viktor stopped moving for a while, pulling away to look at Yuuri, who seemed to be having trouble trying to hide a smile.

“You’d be the one to train her, of course. She’s ours, but I want you to be the master.”

And then Viktor kissed him. He didn’t know what pushed him to, what brought it on. If there was anyone or anything that had placed any doubt on his future with Yuuri Katsuki, all of that didn't matter now.

_Partiamo insieme_

_Ora sono pronto_

And if it were a year ago and you’ve somehow had a look into how Viktor’s mind worked, you’d know that there was nothing planned for what he might do next. He was prancing about, always looking for flights to places he wanted to escape to, always lingering by the rink’s entrance and overcome with doubt and disinterest, always trying to close his heart off from anyone or anything that might want to be a part of his life.

But if you’ve known Viktor enough, you’d know that things were drastically different now. That there was nothing more beautiful than planning out a future with someone else, sharing what he felt about the most mundane things, and cherishing each and everything in his life like a gift.

So it was nothing short of beautiful when Yuuri Katsuki, five-time and (then) reigning world Ice Skating champion, had come into his life like a hurricane.

“Do you like Peter Mayer?” Viktor asked.

“I do,” Yuuri replied. “Why?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I think his songs are very fitting for weddings, that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> Thank you for being lovely and sticking with this fic up until the very end. And look! There's less swearing in this chapter for some reason. Maybe I've had an epiphany of some sorts, idk.
> 
> I'm still deciding on whether or not an epilogue is necessary, and I've been entertaining the idea of writing little extras, but for now, this thing is done and I have a lot of time on my hands. Sooooooo, go help me out and send me prompts over on Tumblr:  
> HMU [@paperclipper](http://paperclipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also looking to write some stuff for haikyuu! but I don't know what it is yet. Send prompts for those too!
> 
> And [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10337136/chapters/22849340)'s a YOI fic I'm currently working on. Check it out and see if it is to your taste.
> 
> Ai shiteru yo. ;)


	16. Extra 1.1 - Savage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri, five time world ice skating champion, has sweaters so _ugly_ it pisses Viktor off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Thought about uploading the extras as oneshots but that would be confusing for those who haven't read this yet. Many of you are still subscribed to this story, so don't get confused if it pops up in your emails!
> 
> And no, this is not an epilogue. I'm still at a loss on how to go about it honestly. But this was fun. :)

It had been tricky, trying to plan out what they were going to do after the recently-ended Grand Prix series. Since Yuuri had returned to the competitive scene, it would be reasonable for them to stay in Detroit for the mean time, and whatever happened after he retired could easily be arranged. And since Viktor was going to have to live with him in America for at least two more years, it had been decided that Viktor brought his personal belongings and ‘ _no, Viktor, I don’t need you to ship your 52-inch television. I already have one_.’.

Viktor was already in Detroit by the time Yuuri came back from the Japanese Nationals. He had dropped by St. Petersburg to train with Yakov and had his things shipped out to America, of which the packages arrived two weeks later.

“Were you lying about constantly moving apartments?” Yuuri groaned in disbelief, still wondering how the hell they could ever move fifteen ginormous boxes into his apartment.

Viktor, beautiful as he may be, whipped out an irritating pout. “No, but unlike you, I have a proper set of clothes!”

“And a box of bad books.”

Yuuri heard him gasp. “V.C. Andrews was an amazing author!”

“Yes, and you love to read books about incest. Nice.”

Viktor jokingly bumped against him and began to lift one of the boxes. “Well, unless you’re Jean Grey, we better start making use of those biceps.” He winked. “After all, I _really_ like your biceps.”

Damn.

Yuuri did want to come live in Russia someday, so Viktor kept his apartment, along with the furniture and appliances. He felt slightly guilty about leaving it to gather dust for the next few years, always remembered how nice it had been, so he proposed that they took a vacation to St. Petersburg at least twice a year.

The bit about the vacation had not only been because of the apartment, but also Viktor. Yuuri knew what it was like to constantly miss the people important to him, so he wanted that at least one of them never went through all that.

Mila was still constantly talking to Viktor via Skype, which soon after became a routine. Yuuri went out to get the groceries while Viktor sat back and chatted away, and then Yuuri would occasionally pop up behind him to drop a quick ‘ _hello_ ’. Sometimes they got glimpses of Yura, too.

He loved this sense of domesticity that had slowly transformed their relationship. Yuuri didn’t notice it at first, as they’ve lived together long before emotional attachments were involved, but looking back made him realize how far they’ve come. Viktor, who was once hesitant to use anything other than the coffeemaker, fridge, and television, had now taken to buying ‘better’ curtains, throw pillows, and centre pieces on the dinning table. He also declared himself de-facto interior designer, which meant that any new decorations or furniture arrangement should either be done by him or Yuuri had to make a consultation first.

Yuuri loved that Viktor eventually made the apartment his, splashing his personality in everything he touched, the last of the barriers between them peeling away like a long lost memory.

That, however, did not mean that Yuuri was ever going to get used to him. Not in a bad way, more like the reality of loving someone—the habit of leaving candy wrappers on the couch and all.

Yuuri stared at the open boxes in the living room, one of which Vicchan fancied for a bed, the puppy snuggling into what looked to be Viktor’s old blue pullover. Another puppy could be seen running about amongst the sea of boxes, an eight-year-old Italian Greyhound named Yuki. When Yuuri asked him about the name, Viktor’s answer was simple, “ _We got her on a Winter_.”

“How many clothes did you bring?”

Viktor looked up, having been distracted by the adorable sight of the puppies playing. “All of them, of course.”

Yuuri face-palmed. “Did it ever occur to you that leaving some of them might come in handy someday?”

“Come in handy...how?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Viktor. Maybe if we took a vacation, then we wouldn’t have to bring as many clothes?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “And knowing how you are, you’ll probably buy more.”

Viktor looked at Yuuri as if none of this made sense. “Oh, not all of these are for me,” he said. “I thought I’d bring some for you.”

“I have clothes.”

“Terrible ones, _zolotse_. And don’t get me wrong, I love you and wouldn’t want it any other way...”

“It’s just that?”

“...It’s just that you have a terrible fashion sense. Or a lack thereof. I’m not too sure at this point.”His nose wriggled, lips quirking up to an expression close to cringing. “Look at this!” Viktor waved at the open closet. “You didn’t have to rearrange anything, yet I have more than half of the closet space!”

“Shouldn’t that make you happy?”

“Maybe, but you have at least twenty ugly sweaters. Not the adorable Christmas kind, just the ugly kind.”

A weird, spontaneous thought popped inside of Yuuri’s head. Sure, it was childish. Yes, he could live without going through with it.

And yet...

What was the harm in trying, though?

A smile began to appear on Yuuri’s face. “I’ll unpack your books and put them on a shelf, alright?”

-

After a year of living together, with half of it shared in the same bed, Yuuri knew that Viktor Nikiforov hated mornings. Not that it ever stopped Yuuri from dragging his ass out of bed, but since they were having a lazy week of no practices, he allowed Viktor to sleep in.

Which was an excellent opportunity, of course.

Yuuri got up early, placed a soft kiss on Viktor’s cheek, and slipped into one of the ugliest sweaters he could find.

Viktor’s reaction to it was gold.

-

“Yuuri...” Viktor stood by the doorway, wearing nothing but sweatpants, eyes forming into slits.

“Good morning!”

“Nothing’s good with what you’re wearing this morning.”

Yuuri looked down to his brown sweater. It wasn’t too bad. In fact, Phichit had picked it out for him, so all things considered it should have been great—except that it was nearly a decade old. The fabric was thinner than it had been when he bought it, the seams on the neck and wrists were stretched out and wrinkly, the colour fading from being washed too many times.

But here’s the thing: It was really loose on him. The neck was stretched out just enough to show off some collarbone, the hem stopping mid-thigh, and if Yuuri was wearing anything else, Viktor wouldn’t be able to tell.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that, love. You look like a tomato.”

Viktor inhaled sharply, though his face stayed blank. “I am not coming anywhere near you until you take that thing off.”

“No can do...”

“I’m walking the dogs,” Viktor went back to their room and got his hoodie.

-

“Yuuri.”

“What?”

“Who the fuck mixes brown with black?”

“Me.”

“...”

“Were you saying something—”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

-

“Viktor, did you want tea or coffee?”

“There’s a hole on your sweater.”

“So? It’s comfortable.”

“Are you for real.”

-

“Yuuri Katsuki, are you trying to get yourself dumped?”

“No, but you couldn’t do it even if I was.”

“...”

“Am I right?”

“Fuck you.”

-

A week later, Yuuri still found himself slipping into one of the many worn out sweaters from his closet. He thought Viktor was going to eventually drop the stubborn ‘ _I’m not going anywhere near you until you look decent, you savage_ ’. It even went so far as Viktor trying to throw the used ones into the trash, but Yuuri rescued them, hid them at the bottom of the hamper, and did the laundry himself.

It was hilarious, after all.

But that morning turned out to be different.

Because that morning, Viktor broke his oath.

Yuuri didn’t hear him approaching at first. The television was on and the dogs were running around, playing like they normally would. So it came as a surprise to him when he felt Viktor’s arms snaked around his waist, his chest flush against Yuuri’s back.

Viktor kissed his the back of his neck, the exposed skin of his shoulders, hands pressing heavily against his abdomen.

“Good morning,” Viktor whispered, and nipped at his earlobe.

“I thought you’d hate this one.”

“I still hate it.”

“But?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

Oh, well.

Viktor’s hand found it’s way under the hem of the sweater, his fingers trailing, featherlike and teasing. Yuuri sighed, resting his head against Viktor’s shoulder, allowing the other better access to his neck.

His hand moved up, upwards, and Viktor stilled.

“Yuuri?” He asked, breath hitching.

“Hmm?”

“Are—Are you—”

“I don’t have to wear boxers when it’s this comfy.”

And then, with his voice almost shaking, Viktor huffed. “Shit. Bend over. _Now_.”

-

Viktor’s pace was punishing, hurried, messy. The bottle of lube had been hastily opened, Viktor making a mess as he poured out too much in his impatience, and now slippery liquid was dripping between Yuuri’s thighs.

He didn’t even bother to undress any of them. Not that there was much undressing to do.

Yuuri was bent over, face pressed against the cold steel of the counter, Viktor’s fingers pulling at his hair.

He loved it.

“ _Zolotse_ ,” Hot breath brushed Yuuri’s ear, Viktor’s voice low and aroused and unbelievably sexy. “Look at what you do to me.”

Viktor slid his arm under Yuuri, lifting his hips, changed angles—and oh, sweet gods.

Yuuri saw white not long after, his head hazy and heart pumping wildly, Viktor following suit. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—that compared to Viktor’s switch flipping. He was demanding, ruthless, and yet still very, very attentive.

Nothing was more rewarding than to be able to see Viktor’s expression change, to see him take and take and take.

Nothing.

They stayed motionless for a while, Yuuri boneless and obscenely positioned on the counter, Viktor hunched over him with his arm supporting his weight. Viktor was already panting as he would from a release, but then—

Yuuri’s head swivelled to look behind him. “Viktor?”

“Yes, love?”

“You didn’t—you didn’t come inside, did you?”

A sneaky, shit-eating grin formed on Viktor’s face. “Well, I don’t think the dry cleaners would be able to fix it.”

Yuuri dropped his forehead on the counter, and groaned.

Viktor chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. “If it’s any consolation, we get to do this nineteen more times.”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did.”

But Yuuri wasn’t complaining. Maybe he’ll deliberately buy more atrocious sweaters when he runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to suggest something? Of course you do. HMU [@paperclipper](https://paperclipper.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> Send in prompts (that are at least remotely) applicable in this universe and we'll see what I can do.
> 
> Tell me what you think?
> 
> -
> 
> P.s. working on some other yoi fic in case you're wondering. Read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10989501)


End file.
